


None So Blind

by shipshape11



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Denial of Feelings, Drama & Romance, F/M, Jealousy, Pining, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:27:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 32,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24212107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shipshape11/pseuds/shipshape11
Summary: Draco hadn’t spared her a second thought until the end of his first year.***It's funny how hate can stem from envy.It's interesting how envy implies admiration.It's Hogwarts from Draco's perspective!.....If Draco secretly harbored feelings for Hermione Granger and definitely wasn't aware of those feelings.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 42
Kudos: 91





	1. New Slang

**Author's Note:**

> Hello to all who venture here!!!
> 
> I'm so nervous....this is my first Harry Potter fic and only my 2nd fic ever!
> 
> A few things before we get started:
> 
> -I am going mostly by the books here (and using direct dialogue from the books for Draco's interactions with the Golden Trio), but I may throw in a few things that are movie-exclusive...
> 
> -I own nothing! Rated M for later chapters.
> 
> "...If you found anything in these stories that resonated with you and helped you at any time in your life — then that is between you and the book that you read, and it is sacred." - Daniel Radcliffe 
> 
> (please everyone go read his entire statement it is perfect and lovely)

Draco hadn’t spared her a second thought until the end of his first year.

They were in the Great Hall, and Slytherin was about to win the house cup for the seventh year in a row. The hall was already decorated with banners of silver and green, and great serpents stared down at the other house tables with triumph in their eyes.

Draco sneered when he saw Potter enter the hall late. There was a hush in the room, then everybody started talking all at once. Leave it to S _aint Potter_ to make an entrance. He was, no doubt, eating up all the extra attention in the wake of his “heroic venture”. He scoffed. If any Slytherin had broken the rules like that…..

No matter. Draco was just glad that Potter was here to see Slytherin beat Gryffindor once and for all.

He was just imagining what he would tell his father on platform nine and three-quarters when Dumbledore stood at the head table. The chatter in the hall died instantly as he spoke, but Draco tuned out the man’s babble and continued his daydream. He was _sure_ Father would get him a new racing broom. After all, he had contributed more than any other first year to Slytherin’s four hundred and seventy-two points.

“…a few last-minute points to dish out. Let me see. Yes…”

Draco’s attention snapped back to Dumbledore. _What was this? Last-minute points?_ His icy eyes narrowed.

“First – to Mr. Ronald Weasley…for the best-played game of chess Hogwarts has seen in many years, I award Gryffindor house fifty points.”

The Gryffindors’ cheers were deafening. Draco couldn’t believe his ears. Fifty points? _To Weasley?!_ And for something as stupid as a game of chess? Never mind that it was McGonagall’s giant chess set. Any moron could play chess. Draco was sure he could beat Weasley in anything, let alone a game that involved using any amount of intelligence. He scowled into the table, _hoping_ Dumbledore would stop talking, but knowing whose name he would call next.

“Second – to Miss Hermione Granger…”

Draco’s head whipped over to the Gryffindor table.

_Wait. Who?_

“…for the use of cool logic in the face of fire, I award Gryffindor house fifty points.”

The Gryffindor table burst into a second boisterous round of applause as Draco’s mind strayed. His eyes narrowed again, this time in confusion.

_Hermione Granger…_

He was pretty sure he had never heard that name before. He scanned the red and gold table for the individual who had just gotten Gryffindor almost tied for second place. And there she was, face in hands as her house-mates patted her on the back. Draco saw the wild mane of bushy, brown hair, and recognition struck him like a slap in the face.

Right. This was the girl that was always with Potter. _The muggle-born._

He was pretty sure it was the same girl he'd had detention with in the forbidden forest, but he hadn't really paid that much attention.

Draco’s scowl deepened as he racked his brain trying to recall what she had done to help Potter get the stone. He couldn’t remember. Dumbledore had said, “the use of cool logic,” which was vague at best and deceptive at worst.

_Hermione Granger…_

Whatever she had done, it probably wasn’t magic related. She was muggle-born, after all. If you asked Draco, her kind really shouldn’t even be let into Hogwarts. When he had learned that Potter had made friends with a muggle-born _over him,_ well… she wasn’t worth thinking about anyways.

When Dumbledore awarded Potter sixty points for Gryffindor, he thought maybe Slytherin and Gryffindor would stay tied. It seemed like something Dumbledore would do. He _hated it_ , but maybe Father wouldn’t be completely disappointed.

Then he awarded Longbottom – _Longbottom –_ ten points and Draco knew that he was in for it. This blatant act of favoritism told Draco all he ever needed to know about Albus Dumbledore.

The Great Hall exploded with yells and cheers as the Slytherin-green decorating the room faded to that horribly garish red. Draco thought of his father and his heart sank. There were two things that Father was sure to ask him when they got back to the manor. The first would be if Slytherin won the house cup. He would not be pleased. Of course, _most_ of that anger would be directed at Dumbledore, which was fine with Draco. The second thing to be asked would be if he had achieved top marks in his year.

Draco’s chest puffed up slightly. He _did_ have the top marks in his year. At least, he couldn’t think of anyone who would have done better. Yes. He was definitely top of the class. That, at any rate, should be enough for Father.

Draco glared at Potter as he made his way out of the hall, willing his eyes to burn holes in the back of his stupid scarred head. He would deal with him later. Maybe on the train. For now, Draco needed to check that he truly was top of the class.

He walked with Crabbe and Goyle down to the dungeons, then told them to go on to the common room without him. Draco turned in the opposite direction and made his way towards the largest dungeon where the Potion’s classroom resided.

He knocked confidently on the door. After a brief pause and the sound of a latch, the door swung open to reveal the shadowy form of Professor Snape. He took in the sight of Draco and quirked a brow.

“Mr. Malfoy,” he said with the slightest note of surprise.

“Professor,” Draco said, nodding his head in greeting. “Do you mind if I have a quick word?”

Snape hesitated for only a moment before wordlessly stepping aside and waving Draco in. He closed the door behind them and strode to the front of the room, gesturing for Draco to take a seat. He sat down behind his desk and resumed (Draco assumed) packing up his things for the end of term.

The classroom was already mostly empty. The rows and rows of mysteriously-filled pickling jars that usually lined the shelves and cupboards were gone; packed away for the summer holiday. Snape, continuing to sort through papers, glanced briefly at Draco.

“Would I be correct in assuming that this visit is about the House Cup?” Snape asked, sardonically. “Typical _Potter_.” His voice was laced with a loathing that Draco admired.

He smirked. Not for the first time, he found himself wishing Snape was headmaster, as he was possibly the only person that hated Potter _more_ than Draco did.

Which was saying something.

“Actually sir, I was wondering if I could have access to the class ranking.”

Snape’s gaze did not lift from his papers, yet he said, not unkindly, “Not to worry, Malfoy. You have top marks among your fellow Slytherins. I am particularly pleased to have seen how well you do in Potions.” Though Snape’s face remained impassive, Draco’s chest swelled with pride.  
  


A sneer crept into Snape’s voice. “Some, like our famed _Potter_ , will never master the subtle science that is potion making. _Gryffindors_. While it appears that most of _them_ are only good for waving their wands around like imbeciles, you appear to have a predisposition to my subject.”

“Thank you, Professor.” His voice was eager. “So, I’m top of the entire class then?”

Snape finally paused. He lifted his gaze to Draco. “The entire class?”

Draco nodded, suddenly wary. Snape gave him a measured glance before standing up without warning and disappearing in a doorway on the right side of the dungeon.

Draco stared after the doorway. _Was he going to get the class ranking?_ _Was he getting some sort of a prize?_ Why wouldn’t he just tell Draco if he had top marks? His mind reeled. _Was there anybody who could’ve possibly beaten him?_ The Ravenclaws in his year were all too busy being clever or inventive or creative to actually pose a threat academically. The Gryffindors…

He ran through all the people he hated. Morons. All of them. And the Hufflepuffs? Actually, if Draco was being honest, he didn’t know any Hufflepuffs. And he didn’t care to.

He was just debating whether or not he should get up and follow Snape when the man reentered the room holding a single piece of parchment. He handed it to Draco without a word and returned to his desk.

Draco looked down at the parchment. It was the list of names. His name was, in fact, at the top.

Only, there was a name above it.

_Hermione Granger._

He stared blankly at the name. Something wasn’t clicking in his head. _Was he reading it wrong?_

“Yes, it’s rather irritating isn’t it?” Snape remarked from his desk, seeming to read Draco’s mind.

Hermione Granger.

The muggle-born.

Hermione Granger the muggle-born had gotten better marks than him, Draco Malfoy.

_But how did…_

Images suddenly flashed in Draco’s mind. Memories of the bushy-haired girl practically jumping from her seat to answer questions. Every question. He had thought nothing of it. Nothing of her. Had she gotten the answers correct? _All of them?_ She must have. She was top of the class.

Draco slowly stood up, made his way to the desk, and set the parchment atop it.  
  


“I think I’m going to go pack now, Professor.”

“Very well.”

Draco found his way to the door, mind oddly blank, when Professor Snape called out one last thing.

“Give my best to your father.”

Panic seized his heart like a bolt of lightning. Father was going to be absolutely furious.

***

Draco stepped through the enormous marble fireplace and into his family’s spacious drawing room. The light from the sunny day flooded in from the high windows, casting the room in a warm summer glow.

On the platform at King’s Cross, his father had met him with a nod and a heavy hand on his shoulder. Mother had, apparently, stayed home to finish preparing for his arrival (which Draco knew to mean she was supervising their House-elf in an unnecessarily anxious manner).

He could hear her now in the other room, shrilly demanding that a painting ought to be tilted a quarter-of-an-inch to the left. Draco hated when her voice got like that. It only happened when she was worrying over something. When she burst into the room and saw them standing by the fireplace however, her voice was full of the same warmth as the midday sun lighting the room.

“Draco!” Her bright smile was infectious. He smiled back.

“Mother.”

She rushed over and threw her arms around him, enveloping him in a near-smothering hug. He let her. It was good to be home.

She released him and held his face in her hands. “We’ve missed you – you’re so tall! How was the rest of the year? Tell us everything.”

Draco shoved her hands away from his face and took a step back. He glanced over at Father. He was tossing his cloak to their House-elf and releasing his wand from the long, black cane he carried whenever they left the house.

“Mum. You saw me at Christmas.”

“Well, I know but still.” She addressed Lucius. “Has he said anything yet? Have you talked about anything important?” Lucius stepped to his wife and gave her a greeting kiss on the cheek.

“I thought it best to wait for you,” he said, in a distinctly disinterested tone.

“Oh, good.” Narcissa clapped her hands together. “Now! I want to hear all about the end of the year. Let’s go to the dining room, shall we?” She led the two of them out of the drawing room, arms guiding them along the way to the dining room. They chose the three chairs closest to the end of the long, mahogany table. When they were seated, his mother turned to him.

“Are you hungry at all?” I can have Dobby make you something.” She turned, as if to call the elf. Draco held up a hand.

“I’m fine,” he assured her. It didn’t deter her. The elf in question appeared and his mother asked for a plate of biscuits with tea. Draco felt nervous.

“Actually, can I go up to my room for bit? Take a minute. Maybe read for while?” The handle of his father’s wand caught him hard on the shoulder.

“Now, now Draco. Your mother wants to talk to you. You will stay.”

Draco scowled, but stayed where he was. His mother leaned forward and spoke in a conspiratorial whisper, though still loudly enough for all to hear.

“You _should_ go look at the library later. There’s been a new addition.” Upon noticing his scowl lighten, she leaned back in her chair. Dobby appeared suddenly at his mother’s side and set the tray down on the table. Draco held his breath, waiting for the question that was certainly coming. As expected, his Father spoke the dreaded words.

“So, Draco. Slytherin won the house cup I presume?” His face held a smug and proud expression that Draco had learned to replicate almost perfectly. He was not looking forward to wiping it from his father’s face. He carried on. “We know from your last letter how far in the lead you were.” Draco glowered, suddenly angry all over again at Dumbledore’s last-minute cheat.

“Actually, Father, we placed second in points. To Gryffindor.” His father raised a brow. Draco sneered.

“It was all that stupid Harry Potter’s fault. He’s Dumbledore’s favorite student. Everybody knows it. They both think they’re celebrities or something. Dumbledore gave Potter and his worthless friends an extra hundred and seventy points right before they announced the winner.”

Draco crossed his arms and stared at the table. When his father said nothing, he glanced over. Aside from a slight frown, there didn’t seem to be any sign of anger.

“Typical. I shall speak with the Board of Governors, of course.”

His mother was shaking her head. “We knew he’d be like this. He _is_ a known muggle-lover, after all,” she added with a distinct note of disgust. His father cleared his throat.

“No matter,” he said. “It is of little consequence and happened through no fault of your own. You did your part, being top of your class.” Lucius set his level gaze on his son and did not drop it.

Draco swallowed. Although it wasn’t phrased as one, he knew this to be a question. When he spoke, his voice sounded small to his own ears.

“Actually. Second. Second best in the class.” Lucius’ eyes narrowed.

“Oh?” He asked, without a trace of curiosity. “Second for the house cup. Second in your class. Malfoys come in first, Draco.” His voice had taken a slightly threatening edge. “Or need I remind you?”

“No, Father.”

Lucius straightened. “And who is this wizard, who did better than you? Not Potter, surely.”

“Er…” Draco hesitated for several seconds, briefly debating whether or not he should lie, before quickly deciding against it. “It’s a witch, actually. Her name is… Hermione.” He purposefully left out her last name and instantly knew his father had noticed.

“Do we know her family? What’s her house?”

“Gryffindor.” His father raised a brow again. “She’s Potter’s friend! It’s probably just because of that,” Draco blurted. He cursed inwardly. _No way out now…_

There was definite suspicion in his father's voice. “Her surname?”

Draco looked down. Defeated. “Granger. She’s…muggle-born.”

His mother let in a small intake of breath, and then there was silence. It seemed to stretch on forever, but at the same time, ended so abruptly Draco thought he might have imagined it. His father stood up forcefully, scooting the chair back with a loud stutter. Draco stayed where he was, stunned at the extent of the reaction.

There was fury in Lucius’ voice now. He spoke very slowly. “You. Have _shamed…”_ He stopped himself and started again. “My own _son,_ a _Malfoy_ …” He seemed too angry to even articulate a sentence. Draco pressed this advantage.

“I’m sorry! I know, I know it’s bad. I’ll do better next year. It shouldn’t be hard, seeing as how she’s muggle-born and I-

“NO,” his father interrupted so loudly that Draco jumped in his chair. He leaned in close. “Call them what they are, Draco. _Mudbloods.”_

A chill ran through him. His father seemed to be waiting for a response. Draco looked sideways at his mother, who was also looking at him seriously. Expectantly.

Draco shrugged, hoping he sounded casual. “Okay. Sure, Mudblood. Fine.”

Draco had, of course, heard this word before. His parents used it, his parents’ friends used it, he’d read it in some of the books in the library. He’d just always assumed it was one of those words he wasn’t allowed to say yet. Besides, it wasn’t like muggle-borns came up in conversation all the time.

“Do you know _why_ we say, ‘Mudblood’, Draco?”

“Because they have dirty blood.”

“Precisely!” The fury in his voice was still there, but an urgency had taken over. “If we are pure-bloods, and our blood is _pure_ and _untainted_ and _better_ , then their blood is _filthy_. They have _filthy_ muggle blood in their veins, yet we let them learn and use _our_ magic. And you, Draco. You have allowed one to surpass you in the study of said magic, and in doing so, disgraced the name of Malfoy!” 

And with that, he turned on his heel and stormed out of the room, leaving Draco to stare after him.

His mother rested her hand on his arm. “It’s alright, darling. I know you’ll do better next year.” She stood from her chair and kissed the top of his head. “I’ll let you relax now. You’ve had a long day of traveling.” She picked up her cup of tea and left the room.

Draco sat there thinking, for the first time, about the implications of Granger besting him. While before he had just been worried about what his father would think, he now felt a hot shame creep its way in and fill him with anger. _How could he have been so stupid?_ He felt like a fool. He had let a girl– no…a _Mudblood_ , who had only been exposed to magic for _less than a year_ , do better than he, a pure-blood wizard, who had lived with magic his entire life.

And just like that, Draco hated her. He hated her for the embarrassment he now felt. He hated what she stood for and where she came from. He hated her more than Longbottom, who had less brains than his pathetic toad. He hated her more than Weasley, whose dirt-poor family disgusted him on a personal level. He might even hate her more than Potter. Potter, at least, he could stomach talking to if it meant he got to torment him. However, Draco didn't think he could stand to even _look_ at Granger. She wasn’t a person to him.

He whispered the word to himself. “ _Mudblood_.”

He liked the way that it sounded.


	2. Sticks and Stones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you know that the word, "Mudblood" is capitalized? Me neither.
> 
> There's some book vs. movie choices I made, so check out my notes at the bottom.
> 
> Enjoy! This chapter was brought to you by Gloomy Draco.

Draco couldn’t help the smirk that appeared on his face as he admired himself in the full-length mirror in the Slytherin changing room. It was his first time wearing an official Quidditch uniform and it suited him well. Sleek. Impressive. He was born for greatness and was just _itching_ for a chance to show up Potter.

He glanced at the rest of his team. They were all holding the Nimbus Two Thousand and One brooms that his father had gifted. Obviously Marcus Flint, the 6th year who was captain of the Slytherin team, had given Malfoy the position of Seeker. He’d have been a fool not to. Now there was no way Potter and his pathetic team could beat them. Not with the superiority of their brooms and Draco as Seeker.

 _Potter._ He wasn’t even that good of a Quidditch player. Everybody just treated him like a prodigy because of his stupid scar. _It’s just because he’s famous. He’s not even good._ It was absolute rubbish.

Term had barely started and Potter was already being a pain in the arse. He flew a car to school and didn’t get expelled for it! Not to mention that he was being treated like a bloody _hero._ He even had that annoying little first year taking his photo like he was an actual celebrity. Draco couldn’t wait to see the look on Potter’s face when he found out he was Seeker.

And he didn’t have to wait long. In no time at all they were out on the Quidditch field. He stayed back behind his larger teammates – the opportunity for a surprise reveal was too great to pass up. When Draco finally stepped forward as the new Seeker, the scowl that formed on Potter’s face was priceless. Almost as good as the expressions of the entire Gryffindor team when Flint announced the possession of their new brooms. Nothing could make this moment better.

“Oh, look,” Flint said, nodding towards the stands. “A field invasion.”

Draco was wrong. Weasley and Granger were making their way over to them. _Now_ the moment would be perfect.

If there was one good thing about Potter and Weasley driving that car to school, it was the Howler that Weasley’s great big mother had sent him. Draco had been beside himself with laughter. That Howler had provided plenty of material for him to use against Weasley in the weeks that followed. Somehow, it was even funnier now that Draco had actually _seen_ the dirty, red-headed family for himself that day in Flourish and Blotts. He thought back to that day. His father had been right. Arthur Weasley was a pathetic, fool of a man. You would never have known they were pure-bloods – the way they willingly and eagerly spend their time with _Muggles_ …

He thought of the Grangers and how wrong it had felt to see them in Flourish and Blotts. If it were up to Draco they wouldn’t be allowed in. It was unnatural. Disgusting even.

When he had approached Potter and his friends that day in the bookshop, he had taken his first, real look at Hermione Granger. He'd never bothered to take the time before. Now she was here in front of him and he forced himself to look. This was the girl that had humiliated him in front of his father; who had done better than him on every single one of their exams.

So, he looked.

And there was nothing to see. There was absolutely _nothing_ special about her. She wasn’t pretty, had no striking features, wasn’t dressed particularly pleasing. In fact, the more Draco looked, the less he liked. Her hair was ridiculous and unruly – an unremarkable brown color. Her clothes were frumpy and unflattering. And when she opened her mouth he could make out her unusually large front teeth. He crinkled his nose in disgust.

Why on earth was Potter friends with this girl? _Was this how all Mudbloods were?_ He glanced at her parents, who were still talking to Arthur Weasley. Muggles really were savages weren’t they… letting their children parade around all slovenly and disheveled.

Draco had decided right then and there, that from that moment on, he would ignore her. He wouldn’t talk to, worry about, or spend any time at all thinking about her.

And on the whole, he had managed to do just that. She was, however, proving to be difficult to ignore in classes now that Draco knew she was doing better than him. The way her hand shot up in _every_ class for _every_ question…you couldn't expect anybody to be able to ignore that. The girl was a bloody know-it-all. Draco was positive she had _single-handedly_ earned each and every house point that Gryffindor had accumulated so far.

Not that he was thinking about her. He wasn’t.

Anyways, it didn’t matter. They had just reached the center of the field, and Draco was happy to take any opportunity to flaunt his wealth in Weasley’s face.

“What’s happening?” Weasley asked Potter. “Why aren’t you playing?” He shot a glance at Draco. “And what’s _he_ doing here?”

“I’m the new Slytherin Seeker, Weasley,” Draco said, savoring the incredulous look on his face as he did so. “Everyone’s just been admiring the brooms my father’s bought our team.”

Weasley didn't even bother to try and hide his jealously, instead choosing to stare open-mouthed at the brand-new racing brooms. Pathetic. If only that kid with the camera were here.

“Good, aren’t they?” Draco continued. This was too easy. “But perhaps the Gryffindor team will be able to raise some gold and get new brooms, too. You could raffle off those Cleansweep Fives; I expect a museum would bid for them.”

The Slytherin team laughed around him as Draco smugly watched anger spread on the Gryffindors’ faces, too furious to retort. Surprisingly, it was Granger who took a small step forward.

“At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to _buy_ their way in,” she said, brown eyes glaring into Draco’s grey ones. “ _They_ got in on pure talent.”

It took Draco a moment to process what she’d just said. What _she’d_ said to _him. She spoke to him! How dare she think she can speak to him!_ And how dare she insinuate that he didn’t deserve to be on the team. A terrible anger flared through Draco and he let venom coat his words.

“Nobody asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood,” he spat.

Her eyebrows quirked, almost imperceptibly, and Draco briefly wondered if she had ever even heard the word before. If she even knew what it meant.

Then there was pandemonium.

Draco heard outraged shouting and just had time to see the two twins jump towards him before his view was blocked by Flint. He watched as Flint struggled against the two Beaters, only vaguely catching Weasley’s furious shout.

“You’ll pay for that one, Malfoy!”

Draco barely had time to register the wand pointed at his face before there was a loud BANG and a flash of light. Flint and the twins stopped struggling and Draco got a perfect view of Weasley on his back in the grass. Whatever spell he had tried to curse Draco with had clearly backfired.

Granger ran over to him, shrieking like an idiot. “Ron! Ron! Are you alright?”

He opened his mouth to answer, but instead of words, came several slimy slugs that dribbled right into his lap.

The Slytherin team burst into wild laughter.

This. _This_ was the best moment of Draco’s life. Weasley belched out another couple of slugs and Draco found himself on all fours, unable to contain himself. _The absolute moron! Couldn’t afford a new wand and then went and cursed himself!_ He couldn’t have planned anything better if he tried. It was too good.

Potter and Granger hauled Weasley away from the Quidditch field and Draco tried to get ahold of himself. He got up off the ground and wiped away the mirthful tears that had sprung in his eyes.

The Gryffindor team left the field (seeing as how they had no Seeker) and Draco spent the remainder of practice replaying the scene in his head, over and over. He continued thinking about it as he changed and made his way up to the castle, alone.

It had all been perfect. The outrage at his use of such an _offensive_ word. Weasley’s pathetic display of bravado. All of it. _Although…_

Something was nagging at him. He thought back to when he had called Granger a Mudblood; how everyone had become outraged.

Everyone except her.

His intended target hadn’t been affected in the slightest. Wasn’t outraged, offended, or upset at all. She had definitely never heard the word before.

_Well, Weasley was probably explaining it to her now. If he could speak at all…_

Still. It bothered him. He couldn’t help but feel that she had _won_ that exchange, somehow. _His_ words hadn’t affected her, but _her_ words still rang out in his mind.

_“At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in…”_

That wasn’t just some empty taunt. It actually had some merit. She read into what the gifting of the brooms _meant_ and annoyingly jumped to some pretty plausible conclusions…

Suddenly, Draco was furious again. Her intelligence simply did not make any sense! It was infuriating and defied everything he knew to be true about her kind. They were inferior! They were to be looked down upon! And yet this jumped-up Mudblood outshone him in every academic aspect he could think of. It was different with Potter. When Potter was praised or looked-up to, Draco knew it was because of his ugly scar and dead parents. But with Granger?

 _Argh!_ He kicked at a weed in the lawn, ripping it from its roots and sending it flying. Draco just wished she would disappear! Drop dead for all he cared! It would make his life so much easier…

…Oddly enough, it was only about a month later when his wish was answered. And it came in the form of a dead-looking cat, and a simple message written on the wall.

_THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE._

A pleasant chill crept up his spine. Draco’s father had spoken before about the Chamber of Secrets. He knew exactly who the message was for.

“Enemies of the heir, beware?” Draco said loudly, hoping to catch the attention of everyone in the hall. Then he looked right at Granger. “You’ll be next, Mudbloods!”

Yes. This was just what he had been hoping for.

***

This was turning out to be the worst year of Draco’s life.

Well. Maybe that was dramatic. All he knew was that since the Chamber of Secrets had been opened, nothing had gone as Draco had expected it to.

He, of course, knew the legend of the Chamber – that the Heir of Slytherin could control a beast that lived within to purge the school of Mudbloods. Regardless, he had written to his father immediately to see if he had any extra information. What he really wanted to know was _who_ the Heir of Slytherin was. He could help them.

Disappointingly, his father had not told him. Had _refused_ to tell him, actually. He had said it would look suspicious if Draco knew more than anyone else, so he was to keep his head down and stay out of it. He _did_ tell him, however, that the Chamber had been opened before, fifty years ago. A Mudblood had died and the person responsible, expelled.

Father had also told him what the monster in the Chamber was: A basilisk. Draco couldn’t believe that nobody had figured it out yet. A creature who only responded to Slytherin and his heir? Who was well known for being able to talk to snakes? _Gee…wonder what the monster could be…_

Initially, it had confused Draco why nobody had died yet. The basilisk’s gaze killed instantly. Then, as more Mudbloods became petrified, he had made the connection. _Reflections_. None of them had looked directly into the eyes of the basilisk, so they had only been petrified. He wondered if the Heir of Slytherin was getting frustrated.

Draco wished terribly that he knew who it was. It certainly wasn’t Crabbe or Goyle. They were way too thick. And he was sure that Blaise Zabini or Theodore Nott would have told him. It was probably one of the older students he didn’t know.

Anyways, it was useless to ponder. Father clearly stated that Draco was to stay out of it. There had already been a raid at their manor by officials from the Ministry of Magic. No need to cause any other suspicion. Draco had been appalled to learn of the raid. _How dare the ministry meddle like they had?_ At least Father had hidden most of their valuable items in the chamber under the drawing room floor. The Ministry was useless as ever. They weren’t even sacking Dumbledore for all the attacks that had been going on. He had thought that _at least,_ if nothing else was going his way, surely Dumbledore would have been sacked by now. But no. The attacks hadn’t even been reported by the _Daily Prophet_.

Draco thought of all the fear and uncertainty in the school. He couldn't comprehend how people actually thought _Potter_ was the Heir of Slytherin. Potter! His blood boiled at the thought. Like Mudblood-loving, Saint Potter could ever be the Heir of Slytherin. What a joke. Didn’t people see him walking around with Mudblood Granger every day?

Granger.

He couldn’t _believe_ that there had been _four_ attacks, and none of them had been on Granger. Instead, the Heir of Slytherin had gotten a cat. And a ghost.

Draco was pretty sure that the Heir of Slytherin was an idiot.

He remembered how his father had said that a Mudblood had died fifty years ago. It was only a matter of time. _Merlin, he hoped it was Granger._

On top of all that, add to the fact that Potter beat him in their first Quidditch match (which definitely wasn’t his fault), he failed to beat him in dueling club (it was all that rubbish with his so-called parseltongue), and Granger was _still_ better in all their classes – and Draco was in a very foul mood, indeed.

He just wished the Heir of Slytherin would get a move on.

Again, surprisingly, his wish was answered.

It was early May when three great things happened in one day. First, Father had seen it upon himself to get Dumbledore sacked. It was about time somebody did something about that old Muggle-loving fool. He boasted to Crabbe and Goyle that it was _his father_ that had accomplished this feat. They would know just how important of a man Father was.

The second great thing to happen was that the oaf, Hagrid, had been sent to Azkaban prison. The Minister of Magic was apparently under the impression that Hagrid was the Heir of Slytherin and the one behind the attacks. It was nonsense, of course. But Draco wasn’t about to go and ruin a good thing. At least now he didn’t have to look at the great, big brute every day.

Thirdly, and most importantly, Granger had finally, _finally,_ been targeted by the Heir of Slytherin. It wasn’t a death, but beggars can’t be choosers. Draco just wished he could’ve been there to see the looks on Potter and Weasley’s faces when they found out. _Bet they were absolutely gutted._ Though, come to think of it, Draco couldn’t really fathom why they’d be too bothered.

As they sat in the Slytherin common room that night in near-silence (Draco wrapped up in his own thoughts, Crabbe and Goyle pigging out over gifts from Crabbe’s father), Draco knew they had to do something to celebrate the wonderful turn of events. And he knew immediately what it was he wanted to do.

“We should go to the hospital wing,” he said abruptly.

They gave him their dumbest looks. “What?” Goyle asked, mouth full of some sort of cake. Draco smirked.

“Weren’t we just talking about how Granger was attacked? And that Clearwater girl? We’ve been neglecting Creevey and Finch-Fletchey, as well. It would be rude of us not to give them all a visit.”

He watched realization dawn on Goyle’s face as he caught on to the cruel game. His mouth twisted up to a smile. “Yeah. We should go,” he said.

Crabbe’s eyebrows stayed furrowed. He was clearly having a hard time.

“You want to go to the hospital wing?” He asked, doubtfully.

Honestly, it was a miracle Crabbe could walk and breathe at the same time.

Draco rolled his eyes. “Yes, we've just said that.”

“Tonight?”

“Yes.”

Crabbe scrunched up his face, trying to work it out.

“Won’t…we get caught?” He finally asked.

Draco just scoffed and said flippantly, “Potter and his friends sneak out all the time and they’re never caught. Besides, Dumbledore’s been sacked. They’ve got more important things to do.”

There was something clearly still bothering Crabbe.

“But…why would you want to visit them?” Poor little idiot. He was very confused.

Draco sighed and glanced at Goyle, who was back to eating the small cakes. No help there. So, he leaned forward and tried a different approach.

“Have _you_ ever seen somebody petrified?” He asked, simply.

Crabbe thought very hard for a moment, and then finally seemed to catch on.

Draco slapped him on the arm. “Let’s go. It’ll be a laugh.”

In no time at all the three of them were out into the corridor and into the night.

The hospital wing was a very different place at night. There was no Madam Pomfrey bustling around the patients, no worried visitors sitting by the bedsides, and absolutely no noise at all. It was deathly quiet. There might have been sound, if there had been normal patients occupying the room, but the four bodies lying in the beds produced not even a peep. No snoring. No breathing. Only stillness.

It was actually quite unnerving.

He glanced over at Crabbe and Goyle, who seemed just as unwilling as him to approach the beds. He forced himself to roll his eyes and he grabbed them both by the robes.

“Come on,” he said, pleased to find that his voice held its normal amount of boredom and indifference. He led them into the room. As they got up to the bodies, they became less hesitant. Justin Finch-Fletchey was closest to them. Draco let out a laugh that echoed around the room.

“Look at his face,” he said, pointing. Justin’s face held a ridiculous expression of terror that was so outlandish it was comical. Crabbe and Goyle guffawed behind him. Goyle reached into his robes and pulled out a bottle of ink and a quill.

“Thought we’d pretty up his face a bit,” Goyle said.

“Excellent,” Draco responded, impressed that Goyle had had the wherewithal to think of that.

As Crabbe and Goyle leaned over Justin’s helpless figure, Draco spotted a mass of bushy brown hair in the far corner. _Perfect._ Just who he wanted to see _._ He made his way over to her bed.

As soon as he got up close, he took in Granger's form. It was as if she were carved out of stone; her eyes were open and glassy, so that she seemed to be looking right through him. Unlike Justin, her face held no sign of fear. Only mild surprise – like she’d asked a question and the answer had intrigued her.

Her right hand was raised up, as if it had been holding something. Draco saw a small circular mirror next to her bed and picked it up. He placed it in her hand.

A perfect fit...

_She knew. She knew about the basilisk – about reflections. She figured it out._

She probably hadn’t had a chance to tell anybody yet, or the whole school would know by now.

He took the mirror out of her grasp and set it back down on the table. Well, if anybody were to figure it out, he supposed it was bound to be her. He sat down at a chair beside the bed and stared at her.

She looked so…small. She looked small and vulnerable and weak. It was pathetic, really.

Draco lifted his hand and, ever so gently, touched his finger to the back of her hand. He instantly recoiled. She was cold. Really cold. He didn’t know what he was expecting – warm skin?

He reached out again and slowly slid his fingers along the back of her hand. It was cold and smooth and hard as stone. He retracted his hand. This was too strange. He was looking at this stiff, lifeless form and trying to connect it to the lively Mudblood he hated so much…but he just couldn’t. They were completely separate beings. It was unsettling.

His eyes drifted up to her hair. In his head, he could see the way it bounced whenever her hand shot up to answer a question in class. He was curious. He brought his hand back up and pinched a strand of her curls between two fingers. Again, his brain expected it to be soft and pliable, but it was just as rigid and lifeless as the rest of her.

A snort of laughter from behind him made Draco shoot away from Granger. He turned around. Crabbe and Goyle were still drawing on Finch-Fletchey, too lost in their own designs to be paying him any attention. He exhaled. _Good._

 _Not that I was doing anything wrong_ , he told himself. _Just…examining a petrified person._ It was interesting.

He gave her one last look. This is what he had been hoping for - what he had come here to see. Now he would finally get to walk around Hogwarts without her presence haunting him everywhere. He would finally be top of the class.

He frowned.

Draco turned his back to her and walked back towards Crabbe and Goyle. When he saw Justin’s face he let out an undignified snort. They had drawn Potter’s glasses and scar on his face, as well as a mustache, and a very crude image that would make Draco’s mother slap him upside the head.

Crabbe nodded over at Hermione. “That the Mudblood?”

Goyle hit him in the arm. “They’re _all_ Mudbloods, Crabbe. That’s the point.”

He paused, thinking, then nodded. “Right. That Granger, then?”

“Yeah.” Draco scowled, suddenly wishing he were back in the Slytherin common room.

Goyle laughed. “Her face look stupid, too?”

“Yeah. Positively moronic. Come, on. Let’s go back.”

As Draco laid in bed that night, he couldn’t get the hospital wing out of his mind. He kept thinking of Granger’s petrified face and how much he hated it. Hated her. Hated Mudbloods.

He dreamed that he was trapped deep underground in a stone cavern. His wand wouldn’t work so he used it to dig into the rock wall that separated him and freedom. He jammed it into the stone, harder and harder until there was nothing left but a bit of splintered wood. He began to claw at the wall with his bare hands, fingers bleeding profusely and mixing with the dirt and grime. When at last he thought he smelled fresh air and felt a breeze permeate the crushing stillness, the cavern collapsed. The stone crushed his body as all the light went out.

***

As it turned out, he didn’t have long to enjoy life without Granger. Within the month the mandrakes were ready, and he was told the muggle-borns would be back here, today, at the end-of-term feast in the Great Hall.

It would seem that was the theme for the end of the year – not getting to enjoy anything. After Potter and Weasley had come back from the Chamber of Secrets with an evil diary of _Voldemort’s_ that his father had somehow been blamed for, they’d just about ruined everything that was going good at Hogwarts for Draco.

Father was no longer a school governor. Potter had lost his family their House-elf. Hagrid had been released from Azkaban. Dumbledore was back as headmaster. Exams were cancelled, so he didn’t get to use his advantage of Granger’s petrification to score higher in exams. Even something that he _should’ve_ gotten to enjoy, like the Weasley girl’s kidnapping and death threat, he didn’t get to because he didn’t even know about it until after they brought her back!

He was going to get Potter back for this. If it was the last thing he did, he was going to get revenge. Draco was going to make Potter and his friends’ lives a living hell. Even though his father technically didn’t have any say in what went on in Hogwarts anymore, Draco would find other ways.

He wished things were how they were when Father was young. He had described to Draco what life had been like under the Dark Lord’s rule. The Malfoy name was held in the highest esteem, even with Father as an open supporter and Death Eater of Voldemort. Afterward, of course, he had denied being aware of his actions, and cleverly convinced the Ministry that he had been under the Imperious Curse. They were able to maintain their position in society.

Draco let himself entertain the thought of the Dark Lord being in power. _What would that be like?_ Probably infinitely better than it was now. Mudbloods wouldn’t be allowed in school, and Potter wouldn't have been alive long enough to be a pain in the arse.

But that would never happen. Father was absolutely _sure_ that he would never make a return. He was gone for good…

That is, if you didn’t believe Potter’s story that he fought him last year.

The loud cry of, “Hermione!” brought Draco back to the present.

He scowled.

Well. She was cured. Back to her ugly, Mudblood self.

The sight of her there in the doorway, all smiling and pleased, gave Draco this strange feeling in his chest that he couldn’t quite place. Loathing? Anger? Annoyance? Exasperation? Gloom? No. He knew what all of those felt like.

He watched as she raced down the hall and straight into Potter’s arms. Draco’s scowl deepened. _What a nice, neat, happy little ending for you, Potter._ They broke apart, and when Granger went to hug Weasley, they both hesitated. Weasley extended a hand, and she took it. Draco narrowed his eyes. _Hm_. He shook his head. Pitiful. They sat down, surely all aware of the scene they had caused and enjoying it.

Dumbledore stepped up to the podium and went through all the motions and mockery. _Yes, yes, Gryffindor beat Slytherin, Potter literally killed a snake, let’s get on with it._

A sudden BOOM was heard, and all eyes turned to the door of the Great Hall, which had just been blasted open by a very ragged-looking Hagrid.

He came in and walked right up to Potter. They started a bloody conversation, disrupting the entire feast. Draco felt like his eye roll had the power to shift the entire room. That’s when he heard Potter say it.

“There’s no Hogwarts without you, Hagrid.”

The whole Hall erupted into applause, but Draco only tuned it out, his mind on what Potter had said.

Of course. That’s what the feeling was…

He was glad. He was glad Granger was unpetrified, and he knew why. He wanted to beat her. He wanted to beat her fair and square, not only in school, but with his wits as well. He wanted to show her he was better than her in every conceivable way. He wanted to call her a Mudblood and _see_ the hurt in her eyes. Wanted her to _know_ how much he despised her. And he couldn’t very well do that if she was a bloody statue, could he?

Suddenly, Draco felt very optimistic for next year. Potter would pay. Weasley would probably humiliate himself some more. And Granger?

Granger would finally know her place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Isn't Draco the worst? Yes! He is!
> 
> Book vs. Movie:
> 
> 1) In the movie, Hermione knows what 'Mudblood" means. In the book, she does not. I chose to go the with the book.  
> 2) In the movie, there's the scene at the end where Hagrid comes in and everybody cheers. This does not happen in the book. I chose to go with the movie.
> 
> Is there anything that you wish I had written from Draco's perspective that I left out? Let me know! Or let me know if you thought it was perfect (ha). Or just say hey! Thanks for reading:)


	3. Sound...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long!! I had to move out of my apartment and then just general life stuff got in the way.
> 
> Also, I found third year to be difficult. Ah, well... Here you go. Enjoy:)
> 
> This chapter is brought to you by Lots of Taunting.

Sirius Black was Draco’s hero.

The man had escaped Azkaban for the sole purpose of killing Harry Potter, had killed twelve Muggles already, and was the reason for the swarm of dementors now residing outside of Hogwarts. Dementors that were responsible for making _famous_ Potter faint like a little girl.

Draco was pretty sure that if anybody could get rid of Potter, it would be Sirius Black. Father had told him that Black was the Dark Lord’s most loyal servant in the old days, though he had never personally met him. Apparently, he had been a spy of sorts, so nobody in Voldemort’s circle had known his identity until they carted him off to Azkaban. The best part, (the part that had made Draco smile with glee) was that Black had been the Potters’ friend, and had sold them out to his master. He was responsible for _poor Potty’s parents dying_.

With any luck, Potter would go looking for Black himself; he was dumb enough to try.

In any case, at least Draco had a lifetime of taunting Potter about fainting to look forward to. He had been delighted at the news.

_Pfft. Some Gryffindor._

Now everybody would know what a fraud he was. Sure the dementors on the train had been… unpleasant _._ But had Draco collapsed like a frightened child? Of course not. He would remind Potter of this shame until their last day at Hogwarts. And maybe even after.

Draco was currently in the middle of telling his fellow Slytherins in the Great Hall that very thing. He needed to make sure they were all on the same page.

“I mean, honestly. He’s _supposed_ to be in Gryffindor. Bravery is their thing. Their _only_ thing. If you’re going to be in a house that only has one useless quality you’d better make sure you’ve actually _got it._ Then again, look at Longbottom…”

The Slytherins around Draco roared with laughter. He continued.

“Wasn’t Potter supposed to have faced a Basilisk last year? What a load of rubbish. He probably just fainted and it died from embarrassment.”

Another laugh. Draco saw Potter enter the Great Hall, Weasley and Granger by his side.

“ _Dementors._ What a joke. They look like they’re wearing old bedsheets. All they did was take a stroll down the train. And what did Potter do?”

Goyle chimed in. “He fainted,” he said, wheezing with laughter.

Draco performed a well-timed swoon, throwing his arm over his eyes and staggering backwards into Theodore Nott and Crabbe, _just_ as Potter was walking by to get to the Gryffindor table. Perfect.

The Slytherin table exploded with cruel laughter that turned up in volume as they noticed that Potter had seen. Draco smirked with triumph when he saw the anger boiling over on Potter’s face. It didn’t last, though. Granger pulled him away from the Slytherin table, saying, “Ignore him. Just ignore him, it’s not worth it…”

Draco’s triumph gave way to annoyance.

She had been doing that a lot.

In fact, since that incident on the Quidditch field, it was all she’d been doing. She hadn’t spoken to Draco at all. Not one word. Which was good - that’s how it _should_ be. But, still…

He was annoyed. And he didn’t even really know why. It was infuriating the way she ignored him. Like what he said didn’t matter at all. Wasn’t it supposed to be other way around? _She_ was the one who didn’t matter. _He_ was ignoring _her._

And he had been. When he had seen her on the Hogwarts Express with Potter and Weasley, he had decided that the _best_ way to show his hatred for her was to pretend she didn’t exist. He would let his silence speak far louder than any insult. It would say, _You’re not even worth acknowledging. You’re not a human being._ And if _she_ spoke to _him_ , then and only then would he condescend to respond.

So Draco had looked right past her when he’d stopped at their compartment. “Well, look who it is,” he had drawled. “Potty and the Weasel.” He let the absence of her name hang there like an insult.

Crabbe and Goyle chuckled as the two Gryffindors glared at Draco. Granger kept her eyes trained on Potter and Weasley.

Draco continued. “I heard your father finally got his hands on some gold this summer, Weasley,” he said, feigning interest. “Did your mother die of shock?”

The Weasley family had won the Daily Prophet Galleon Draw, and received a whopping _seven-hundred_ Galleons. It was probably more than that destitute family had seen in their entire lives.

Weasley shot up from his seat, clearly intending to do something stupid, but Granger grabbed him by the arm and gave him a look. He stopped.

Draco had just enough time to be annoyed before the man sleeping in the compartment had given a loud snort. Then of course, he’d spotted the suitcase indicating the man was a Professor and he’d been forced to leave.

Draco didn’t know what she thought she was playing at. Was she trying to rise above it? Above him? Fat chance. He would get her to crack. She was playing mind games with him; he was sure of it. But Draco was playing games of his own. He was confident that not only would he get her to break, but he would do it without saying one word directly to her.

“Hey Potter!”

Pansy’s piercing shout broke him from his train of thought, bringing him back to the present. She shrieked across the room, “Potter! The dementors are coming, Potter!” She put up her hands in an impression of the dementors. “ _Woooooooo!”_

Draco laughed with the other Slytherins, but once again, Granger grabbed Potter by the arm and hauled him to his seat before he could make what was sure to be an unremarkable comeback.

He turned his attention to Pansy. She was wearing a self-congratulatory sneer that turned to Draco for approval. He flashed her his trademark smirk.

He couldn't help but compare her to Granger.

Pansy Parkinson was everything that Hermione Granger was not. First and foremost, she was a pure-blood. Both the Malfoys and the Parkinsons were well-respected, noble families. Draco’s father had met and approved of her. Pansy also took pride in her appearance, _very_ unlike Granger. Her robes were new and well-fitted, her hair was always straight and shiny, and her face certainly wasn’t _ugly_. Maybe her nose was a bit upturned, but Draco could overlook this minor issue in light of all her other qualities. She also happened to _adore_ him. As she should. Draco was pretty sure that he could get Pansy to do whatever he wanted, which was useful. The girl was actually a bit empty-headed if he was being honest…

That was another thing she and Granger didn’t have in common.

Nevertheless, she was much nicer to look at than the Mudblood, whose enormous front teeth and unruly hair pretty much guaranteed no boy would ever look twice at her. Hadn’t she ever heard of Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion before? He wanted to chuck a bottle at the back of her head.

Yes, the Slytherin girls were much preferable company. And they were all easier to look at. Daphne Greengrass, Tracey Davis, Millicent Bulst-

Okay. Maybe not Millicent Bulstrode. He looked over at the girl-in-question. She was attacking her dinner like she’d never learned how to hold eating utensils.

Right. Definitely not Millicent Bulstrode. Sleakeazy’s wouldn’t fix _her_ problem.

Draco spent the remainder of breakfast imitating Potter’s fainting, making his movements as big as possible so that everyone in the Great Hall would see. It didn’t matter if Potter and his friends didn’t respond to his taunts. That just made it all the easier for Draco.

His first class of the morning was Defense Against the Dark Arts with the Professor from the train. Lupin. Was this man really supposed to teach them? He had to be the sorriest excuse for a professor that Draco had ever seen. He had patches on his robes and his skin was pale and sickly. They spent the entire class pointing their wands at a boggart and saying, “Riddikulus,” which was, unironically, ridiculous. This was servant work and Draco couldn’t believe it was being taught in school. This whole class was a waste.

Although, it _was_ amusing to see his classmates’ worst fears. He was never going to let Blaise live down that his worst fear was _being ugly._ Ha! And people thought _Draco_ was arrogant. He hadn’t gotten a turn with the boggart and had absolutely no idea what it would’ve turned into. There wasn’t anything he was afraid of.

As the hour came to a close, Draco suddenly remembered which class he had next.

Care of Magical Creatures. With Hagrid.

He groaned inwardly. If he had known Hagrid was going to be teaching the class he would’ve chosen a different elective.

They were supposed to pick two. There was no way he was taking Muggle Studies; the very fact that it was a class was absurd. Divination was also out; it was a class for idiots and Hufflepuffs. That had left Care of Magical Creatures, Ancient Runes, and Arithmancy. He _knew_ he’d wanted to take Ancient Runes, and in Care of Magical Creatures there was a chance he’d see a dragon, or something…

_He should’ve taken Arithmancy._

He thought of his copy of _The Monster Book of Monsters_ , which he had bound closed with a length of rope, as he walked down to the tiny hut Hagrid called a house. It was his own fault. He should've known who the professor would be when he bought his books in Diagon Alley. Then he could’ve asked Professor Snape to transfer him. Maybe he still would.

That’s when he heard the unpleasant timbre of Weasley. He turned to see his least favorite trio joining the crowd surrounding Hagrid’s hut.

Maybe he could have fun in this class, after all.

Hagrid cleared his throat and led them all around the edge of the Forbidden Forrest until they reached a sort of clearing in the trees. Draco had been in the forest during his first year for an unorthodox detention. He had never understood it. If going into the forest was _forbidden_ , then why had it been their _punishment_? Draco shook his head. If the big oaf was taking them there for the lesson, his father was going to hear about it. He scowled, and focused his attention back to Hagrid, who had been talking all the while.

“…Now, firs’ thing yeh’ll want ter do is open yer books,” he said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.”

Draco would’ve laughed if the situation wasn’t so irritating. “How?” he asked out loud, hoping the giant could hear the disdain in his voice.

“Eh?” said Hagrid.

Draco rolled his eyes. _Did he have to spell it out for him?_

“How do we open our books?” He couldn’t believe Hagrid thought assigning books with teeth was a good idea. Draco smirked as he saw his words wipe the excided smile off his “Professor’s” face.

“Hasn’ – hasn’ anyone bin able ter open their books?”

The whole class shook their heads.

“Yeh’ve got ter _stroke_ ‘em,” Hagrid said, as if they were supposed to have tried it already and he couldn’t believe they hadn’t. “Look…”

He swung his shaggy head around, looking for a book he could us as an example. Granger held out her copy with a timid smile, and he took it. Draco narrowed his eyes. Potter and his friends were all clearly the oaf’s favorites. Draco was going to knock them all down a peg.

Hagrid ripped off the Spellotape that Granger had used to keep her book closed, and he ran his hand down the spine right as it tried to bite off his fingers. The book shuttered, then fell still.

Draco stared at him incredulously as he handed the book back to Granger. “Oh, how silly we’ve all been!” he sneered. “We should’ve _stroked_ them! Why didn’t we guess?”

“I – I thought they were funny,” Hagrid said, looking at Granger. She gave him an encouraging smile and slight nod.

Draco scoffed. “Oh, tremendously funny!” he said. “Really witty, giving us books that try to rip our hands off!”

Potter took a step towards Draco. “Shut up, Malfoy.”

But it didn’t matter. Hagrid had lost all his confidence.

“Righ’ then,” he said. “So – so yeh’ve got yer books an’ – an’ – now yeh need the Magical Creatures. Yeah. So I’ll go an’ get ‘em. Hang on…”

He turned and disappeared into the trees.

Draco watched as Granger’s face went from watching Hagrid with concern, to glaring at him with an anger he’d never seen from her. Not when he insulted Potter and Weasley, and not even when he’d called her Mudblood.

A jolt of clarity pervaded his mind. _This was it. This was how he would get to Granger._ For some bizarre reason that Draco would probably never understand, Granger cared about Hagrid. Potter and Weasley were glaring at him too, but that was nothing new. This was the first time he’d said something that actually got under her skin. He finally had something that he knew would hurt her, and he didn’t even have to say it _to_ Granger _._

“God, this place is going to the dogs,” he said as loudly as possible. “That oaf teaching classes, my father’ll have a fit when I tell him.” He saw the scowl deepen on Granger’s face.

Again, Potter stepped forward. “Shut up, Malfoy.”

He noticed that Granger wasn’t trying to stop him. Wasn’t pulling at Potter’s arm to get him to, “ _Just ignore it._ ”

Draco smirked. This was what he wanted. And those were some pretty strong words coming from a guy who’d fainted at the sight of a dementor. He thought he’d tell him.

“Careful, Potter, there’s a dementor behind you…”

But just then one of the Gryffindor girls – Lavender-Something – squealed and pointed to the opposite side off the clearing.

Coming out of the trees were some of the ugliest creatures that Draco had ever seen. They were like horses, but with the top halves of enormous eagles. They were covered with feathers from the mid-section up, and had immense wings folded at their sides. They actually looked rather deadly, with their sharp front talons and wicked-looking beaks. To top off the absurd image, each creature had a collar around its neck with a thick rope that led back to Hagrid.

He led them to a wooden fence on the edge of the enclosure and tied off their leads.

“Hippogriffs!” Hagrid boomed, like a proud mother. “Beau’iful, aren’ they?”

 _Right. Just lovely._ If he thought Draco was getting _anywhere_ near these things, he was a complete nutter.

“So,” continued Hagrid, clapping his hands together. “If yeh wan’ ter come a bit nearer…”

Draco rolled his eyes. _Of course._

Sure enough, the only ones thick enough to move forward were Potter and his stupid friends.

That was when Hagrid started rambling on about how _proud_ hippogriffs were and _blah, blah, blah…_ This class was a waste of time.

He muttered to Crabbe and Goyle in a low tone. “Wait until my father hears what my classes have been like. We should do something.”

Crabbe furrowed his brows and Goyle gave a malicious smile. “Like what?”

“I don’t know,” Draco said, pondering. “We could give Granger a shove and hope hippogriffs hate Mudbloods as much as we do?”

Crabbe and Goyle chuckled under their breaths.

But then, as if answering his prayer, Potter stepped forward and volunteered to touch one. He exchanged excited looks with Crabbe and Goyle.

_Excellent._

Draco watched with anticipation as Hagrid untied a particularly wicked-looking gray one. Potter approached the beast, keeping his eyes opened. Nothing happened. He bowed. The creature bowed back. Again, nothing happened. Then Potter reached out and _touched_ it’s beak with his bare hands and Draco lost all hope.

The class erupted into cheers while Draco’s shoulders fell with disappointment. It appeared the creature was not, in fact, going to claw Potter’s face off. _What a shame._

And then, as if he hadn’t gotten enough attention already, Potter climbed up onto the back of the hippogriff and the creature kicked off into the sky.

Draco scowled. _Show-off._

These things weren’t dangerous at all! It was probably easy. In fact, Draco bet anybody could have done what Potter was doing.

Except maybe Longbottom.

Potter and the hippogriff landed back down to the ground and the class burst out into another round of applause. Hagrid untied the other creatures so the rest of the class could try. Draco marched right up to the gray one that Potter had just ridden.

He would show them. This was child’s play.

As predicted, it was laughably easy. He maintained eye-contact and bowed. It lowered its head and returned the gesture. Ha! _Take that Potter. Not so special now, are you?_ He strode up the hippogriff and gave its beak a pat. He sneered. These things were really quite pitiful. They would probably bow for anybody, although Draco was pleased to see that Longbottom was running away from his hippogriff in fright.

He glanced over at Potter, who was watching Granger and Weasley pet a chestnut-brown one a short distance away.

He raised his voice. “This is very easy,” Draco said in a bored drawl he’d picked up from his father. “I knew it must have been, if Potter could do it… I bet you’re not dangerous at all, are you?” He looked at the hippogriff. “Are you, you great ugly brute?”

Before Draco knew what was happening he felt terrible pain in his right arm and a heavy pressure. He cried out, and as the pressure lifted, he realized that he had fallen and was lying on the ground. Hagrid was struggling with the hippogriff, pulling it away by the collar. Draco slowly looked down at his arm. Blood was gushing out of a long, deep gash, and was blooming out all over the white of his shirt. His mind went blank.

And then he panicked.

“I’m dying!” Draco screamed, clutching his arm. It was hot and slippery from all the blood. Draco was vaguely aware of the shouts of chaos coming from the rest of the class. “I’m dying, look at me! It’s killed me!”

The pain in his arm was excruciating. _Why the bloody hell was nobody taking him to the hospital? Where were Crabbe and Goyle?_

Hagrid only floundered. “Yer not dyin’!” he yelled, almost defensively. “It’s only a scratch!”

He couldn’t believe this. They were actually going to let him die, right here on the grass. At least when his father found out, there was a good chance everybody involved would be sent to Azkaban…

“Hagrid!” A stricken voice rose above the rest. _His savior_. “He has to be taken to the hospital wing!”

 _Wait._ That voice. Even in his dazed state, Draco recognized that voice. It was the voice he heard so often in class. The voice that was never directed at him.

_Granger._

Before his brain could fully register why this was significant, Hagrid had him lifted off the ground and was rushing him away from the forest up towards the castle.

It was easily the most humiliating and painful trip of his life. The giant oaf carried him (none too gently) up the hill, through the door, and down one hallway after another. When Draco was finally set down onto a hospital bed, he was relieved. His sleeve was now completely soaked with blood, his arm was growing numb, and Madam Pomfrey was nowhere in sight. He shot daggers at Hagrid.

“Are you going to stand there?” he shouted. “Or are you going to go get Madam Pomfrey?”

Hagrid jumped. He’d been staring at Draco in some sort of a stupor. “Oh, righ’,” he said, moving quickly. “I’ll go an’ get her, then.” He lumbered off out of sight.

Draco closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, mentally cringing. He would rather kiss a Mudblood on the mouth than let _Hagrid the Gamekeeper_ touch him ever again. Honestly, couldn’t he have just gotten somebody to levitate Draco up to the castle? It would have been much faster, and less painful. It genuinely did feel like his arm was _killing_ him. He was getting seriously lightheaded.

Madam Pomfrey whirled into the room with Hagrid hot on her heals.

“You can get back to your class now, Rubeus,” she barked at Hagrid, pulling out her wand and focusing on Draco. “I can take it from here.”

He started to protest. “But-

“Out!” she said firmly, and he plodded out of the room.

“Now,” she said to Draco, pointing her wand at his arm. “Hagrid told me what happened. Let’s see to that cut, shall we? And then we will assess for further damage.”

Draco thought the word, “cut” was putting it lightly, but he said nothing. Tears had started forming at his eyes, and he was anxious to get this over with as quickly as possible. Madam Pomfrey flicked her wand, causing the ruined sleeve of his shirt to fold itself up to his elbow without causing him pain. She began muttering under her breath and Draco watched, mesmerized, as blood began to draw back into the wound. She passed her wand over it again, muttering still, and the gash slowly knit itself back together. Immediately, most of the pain in his arm vanished.

He lifted his hand and gave his wrist an experimental twist. A sharp ache shot through his forearm and he winced. Madame Pomfrey simply frowned and pointed her wand at the location of the now-healed wound. After a moment, she hummed with impatience. Whatever it was she happened to glean from her non-verbal spell, it sent her flying into her store cupboards. She came back seconds later with two bottles of unknown liquids, and a pile of cloth.

“Here,” she said, thrusting the first bottle into Draco’s good hand. It was thick and smelled of spoiled milk. “Drink.”

He eyed it skeptically. “What is it?” he asked.

“Poison,” she quipped in a monotone. “Drink up.”

Draco didn’t move. She gave him a hard look. “You have a broken bone, young man. _Drink_.”

Draco downed the potion as Madame Pomfrey added a few drops from the second bottle onto his healed injury. Whatever scars or markings were left instantly disappeared.

“Essence of Dittany,” she explained, as if she knew Draco had been about to ask. “Feel better?”

He nodded.

She pressed her lips together, looking assured. "Your arm should be fine now. I’m going to wrap it up, but I encourage you to take it out of the sling periodically to use and move your wrist around. Nothing extreme, of course, but things like writing should suffice.”

"Great."

The Dittany, in combination with the mysterious bone-healing potion he drank, had done wonders. The pain in his arm was nearly completely gone, and his skin looked good as new. Madam Pomfrey waved her wand, and the cloth she had been carrying enveloped around Draco’s arm as a sort of wrapping. Then she carefully tied a second cloth around his neck to form a sling. It felt unnecessary; his arm was mostly fine now. He wondered how long he would have to wear it.

He was just about to ask if he could leave, when a shriek shattered the silence.

“Draco!”

Draco looked over to see Pansy running frantically towards him. She keeled over when she reached his bed, hands on her knees, clearly out of breath from the run to the castle. Madam Pomfrey looked at her as though she were a grindylow that had somehow found its way to her hospital wing.

“Excuse me, Miss…”

“Parkinson,” she panted.

Madam Pomfrey opened her mouth to speak, but Draco cut her off before she could get a word out.

“It’s ok,” he said, hastily. “I want her here.”

Pansy positively beamed at Draco while Madam Pomfrey just looked exasperated and resigned at the same time. She addressed Draco again.

“Right. Well, you’ll have to keep the wrappings on for a couple of weeks to ensure everything settles properly. I’ll send for you to come take another dose of the potion in a few days’ time. Other than that, you’re free to go whenever you wish.”

And with that, she whisked out of the room leaving Draco alone with Pansy. She seemed to have finally gotten her breath back and sat on the edge of the bed.

“Oh, Draco!” she cried, clutching his good arm. “That was so horrible! Does it hurt terribly?”

He opened his mouth, then paused. He looked at her hand stroking his arm – her face full of concern. A thought occurred to him.

“Yeah,” Draco said, screwing his face up in pain. “It’s practically unbearable. Madam Pomfrey said that if I’d gotten here one minute later, I would’ve lost my arm.”

Pansy gasped. “No!”

“It’s true,” he said, nodding. He tried a face that said _I'm being brave through the pain_ , enjoying the admiration that was plain on her face. “But don’t worry about me. I’ll probably be fine.”

Pansy slid her hands down his arm to hold his hand in hers. “Wow,” she whispered. “You’re really brave, Draco.” He tried not to smirk. “Everybody was _really_ worried about you,” she added. He perked up.

 _Oh, right._ He had completely forgotten…

“Yeah?” he asked, forcing his voice to sound disinterested. “Like who, exactly?”

He face twisted in puzzlement. “I don’t know. Everybody. The Slytherins? Obviously not Potter or his friends. Or really any of the Gryffindors.”

 _Hm._ He could’ve _sworn_ it was Granger who showed him concern in the clearing. But of course, that didn’t make any sense. Why on earth would _Hermione Granger_ want to help _Draco Malfoy_? It had to be a mistake.

Except… it wasn’t. He knew her voice.

Pansy mistook his silence for anger and continued, her face twisted into a scowl. “Ugh. That Hagrid is a monster. And so is the beast that attacked you. The both of them ought to be locked up or something!”

A lightbulb went off in Draco’s head. He squeezed Pansy’s hand and looked her in the eye. “Pansy,” he said. “You’re brilliant!”

She smiled. “Thank you!” Then she tilted her head slightly to the side. “Um…why?”

But Draco ignored her; his mind was reeling. _This was his chance._ He had just been handed an incredible opportunity. _She was right._ He _should_ be locked up. _Would_ be if his father had anything to do with it. Or at the very least, he would be fired, and the hippogriff would be put to death.

On top of all that, he would milk this arm thing for as long as he could. It would help with the case against Hagrid. It would win him sympathy from Pansy. And, not to mention, he could probably get people to do all kinds of things for him.

 _Yes!_ He was getting excited now as the pieces of his plan fell together. Hagrid would be sacked, the hippogriff would die, and all the while Potter, Weasley, and Granger would be _devastated._ Draco had seen how Granger had reacted today when he simply _insulted_ the fool. She would be shattered when he got him sacked. This was how Draco was going to win.

“Draco…?”

He patted Pansy’s hand and grinned at her. “Because, Pansy,” Draco finally answered. “This is going to be our best year, yet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHH I'm sorry I already broke my rule! I had to split third year into two chapters. I knew I wasn't going to be able to put in everything I wanted without it being crazy long. If you would prefer longer chapters instead, please let me know :)
> 
> Sooooo.....Book vs. Movie:  
> -In the books, Hagrid brings lots of hippogriffs to class! Not just one! And Draco gets Buckbeak to bow to him; he doesn't storm up like a complete idiot. So I decided to keep that from the book.  
> -In the movie, Hermione is the one to tell Hagrid to take Draco to the hospital. That doesn't happen in the book. Buuuuut I kept the movie version:)
> 
> What do you guys think Draco's Boggart would've been? My guess would be either his father (disappointed in him), or a werewolf. In the first book he's all worried about werewolves in the Forbidden Forest, and he's always been rather uncomfortable around Fenrir Greyback.
> 
> What do YOU think? Thanks for reading:)


	4. ...And Fury

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whoa okay sorry this took a million years. A lot's been going on in the world.  
> That's why having as creative outlet has been such a good thing:)
> 
> This chapter is...very long. Too long? Please tell me if it is. I didn't want to break up third year AGAIN so I kind of made a monster. Enjoy!
> 
> This chapter was brought to you by Draco Watching Hermione A LOT and Not Realizing It.

Prolonging the facade of his injured arm was the best decision Draco had ever made. In fact, it was a bloody gold mine.

He had sent an owl to his father first thing the next morning, and the reply had been swift and rewarding. Father had reacted exactly how Draco knew he would; he was furious, obviously, even though he’d told his father the truth about his arm’s condition. He had assured Draco that there would repercussions for Hagrid and the hippogriff. He had already complained to the school governors, as well as the Minister of Magic, himself.

His parents had also sent him gifts to accompany the letter. They sent him a first-edition copy of the book, _Ancient Alchemic Arts,_ as well as a box of sweets from a shop near the manor that his family frequented in the summer.

Life at Hogwarts had never been better. Pansy showered him with compliments and concern, his professors gave him leniency on assignments, and best of all, Potter and Weasley were stewing with resentment.

Potions class was, as always, his favorite. He’d only had one class since his arm got injured, but Professor Snape had forced Potty and Weasel to help Draco make his potions, and they were none too pleased. He had similar experiences in all of his classes so far. He’d only just gone back to classes on Thursday but was already having the time of his life.

The following Monday, Draco arrived late to his Ancient Runes class. He had been down at the hospital wing taking another dose of the bone-healing potion Madam Pomfrey was supplying to him. He felt no pain in his arm now, but she seemed to think he should keep the bandages on until he was finished taking the potions. That was all well and good for Draco – he was keeping this going for as long as possible.

Draco walked into class and confidently handed the note excusing his tardiness over to his professor. The other students looked up from their books briefly, cutting off their conversations. It was his first time back in this class since the accident, and many of them hadn't yet seen his arm. They bowed their heads after a moment’s pause and continued working – a low level of chatter filling the room.

Professor Babbling put on her reading glasses and examined the note with great care, as if she were translating a runic text. Babbling was alright by Hogwarts standards. She had a slight tendency to go off-topic, but her tangents were often rather interesting. She had been all around the world studying runic scripture and was an expert in the field. Study of Ancient Runes was one of Draco’s favorite classes, and clearly the best elective; especially given that the other choices were ‘monster class’ and the useless study of _Muggles_.

Professor Babbling folded the note and put it on her desk, smiling at him warmly. “Sorry to hear the arm is still on the mend, Mr. Malfoy. Is it feeling any better?”

Draco gave her his best brave face. “A little bit, Professor. Still hurts a lot. It’s rather difficult for me to wave my wand or write…”

She nodded sympathetically. “Yes, Professor Snape mentioned you’d been getting a lot of help in Potions class. You can expect the same treatment here.” Draco resisted the urge to smirk, plastering on a look of gratitude instead. _Too easy._

“Now, you have your textbook, don’t you?” she asked. Draco nodded.

“Excellent. We’ve been partnering up to translate _these,”_ she tapped twice on the chalkboard, “by using the charts on page eighty-seven and eighty-eight. You’ll be turning this in by the end of class. I’m sure most pairs have already gotten through about a third by now, but lucky for you, Miss Granger here walked in late as well.”

Draco froze. He slowly turned his head to look at the class, hoping vainly that he had misheard.

Sure enough, every single person in the class was sitting next to a partner.

Everyone except Granger.

She had clearly just finished getting out her book, parchment, ink, and quill, and was opening her book to assumedly page eighty-seven. She was also steadfastly refusing to acknowledge Draco and Babbling’s conversation, though it was plainly loud enough for all to hear.

Draco got over his moment of disbelief as dread settled in. He turned to Professor Babbling. “No no no no no,” he said hastily, then recovered his poise at the sight of her expression. “Er – that won’t be necessary, Professor. I can do it on my own.”

Granger began scribbling furiously onto her parchment while Babbling looked at Draco with confusion.

“I beg your pardon?”

He winced. “What I mean is,” Draco said, “I’d really like to try and work these out on my own. I learn much better that way.”

He thought it was a fairly clever excuse, but Professor Babbling simply smiled.

“Don’t be silly,” she said with a laugh. “You’ll work with Miss Granger. You two can bounce ideas off of each other! Besides, you said yourself that you would need help writing things down.”

 _Damnit._ This woman was in serious danger of getting on Draco’s bad side.

She put a hand on his shoulder and led him over to where Granger was sitting; her face was buried in her copy of _Ancient Runes Made Easy_. They stopped right in front of her table and stood there for a moment, waiting expectantly. She pretended she didn’t notice them.

Draco’s forehead throbbed.

Professor Babbling noisily cleared her throat. “Miss Granger, it appears you won’t be working alone after all. Mr. Malfoy will be your partner.”

Granger finally lifted her head from her book and looked up…right past Draco. “Alright, Professor,” she said. Her expression was completely blank.

“Splendid!” Babbling turned to the entire class and raised her voice. “Reminder that you have until the end of class time to finish. If you have any questions, feel free to ask.”

And with that, she left them alone.

Granger added Draco’s name to the top of the mostly blank paper, saying nothing. He wondered why she’d been late to class. It didn’t seem very like her.

Draco stood there for a moment, gritting his teeth and resigning himself to his fate. There was, unfortunately, no way out of this. He walked around the table and took the spot next to her, sitting as far away as physically possible while still staying within reading distance.

He stared at her. She didn’t look up from her book.

 _Was she expecting him to speak first?_ Well she’d be waiting a long time then. He wasn’t speaking to her at all if he could help it. She’d have to break the silence eventually.

So, he kept staring. Hopefully his face showed that perfect blend of disdain and superiority that he’d mastered. He hoped it was making her uncomfortable, though she showed no signs of acknowledging his presence. It was impressive, really, the way she obstinately _refused_ to look at him.

 _Merlin, this was backwards._ And probably really immature. He sort felt like he was five years old again and he and Theo were playing a game of “who can stay quiet the longest?” 

He didn’t care. It was just… _really,_ who did she think she was, ignoring him?

Probably sensing Draco’s glare, she finally looked up from her book and stared ahead towards the front of the room, her jaw set in some undetectable emotion. Draco saw her look at him out of the corner of her eye for a moment. She let out the smallest of sighs and turned to face him.

But she didn’t meet his gaze.

“Look,” she said. It was the first word she’d spoken to him in over a year. “I’ll just do everything, okay?” Her tone was defensive, like she was afraid he’d object. “So, you can stop staring at me like that…”

Draco stayed silent, still looking into her brown eyes, which were looking anywhere and everywhere but his.

It bothered him for some reason. It _should_ be a good thing. Or else – it would be a good thing if he knew _why._ _Why_ wasn’t she looking at him? If it was out of fear, then that would be okay.

Draco had a feeling it wasn’t out of fear.

When she realized he wasn’t going to answer, she spoke again.

“Right. Well, if you want, you can check my answers as I go,” Granger said. She sounded unsure. “And, er…yeah.”

Not waiting for a response – and probably not expecting one – she turned to her parchment and began translating the first set of runes.

He scowled. This was not how he had expected their next interaction to go. He’d been expecting insults and tears – not a forced, calm, one-sided discussion on schoolwork. At least _he_ hadn’t spoken to her. _And_ she was doing all the work. If he squinted at the situation, it was almost like he was tricking her into doing his assignment for him. Although…

He kind of hadn’t been lying when he told Professor Babbling he wanted to translate them for himself. He really did enjoy Ancient Runes, but it just wasn’t worth it. There was no way he was working with a Mudblood.

The worst thing about Study of Ancient Runes was that he had to take it with Granger. He had not been looking forward to _yet another_ class in which she would outperform him. And sure enough, she answered every single question correctly, and had an opinion on almost everything.

It still baffled him, even in their third year, how she could do as well as she did and be a Mudblood. It defied all logic. Even watching her now was perplexing. She was so focused – so single-minded. Her eyes flew over the page with practiced haste. When she was thinking hard about something, her eyebrows scrunched together. When she figured out a problem, the side of her mouth would twitch up in triumph as she scribbled her answer onto the parchment.

Before long, Granger was further along than most of the class. Draco had been following along with her translations in his own copy of _Ancient Runes Made Easy,_ but so far she had been frustratingly accurate. He would have translated them all exactly the same.

Then, something caught his eye.

“Partnership.”

She was so startled by the sound of Draco’s voice that she whipped her head around in surprise. He didn’t blame her. He was surprised by his voice, too. The word had just come out on its own. Granger looked directly at him, clearly forgetting herself. Her eyes stayed on his for a moment before she flicked them away.

“What?”

He hesitated, debating whether or not he should keep talking.

_Well he’d already gone this far…_

“…It’s Partnership.”

Granger set down her quill, clearly confused.

“Okay…” she began. “Do you want to do the last bit, or something?”

Draco rolled his eyes and forced himself to keep speaking. He didn’t want to, but the opportunity to correct Granger was just too sweet to pass up.

He did, however, stop looking into her eyes when he spoke.

“No,” he said impatiently. “ _This.”_

He reached over and tapped his finger on the parchment. She instinctively flinched away from his hand.

_Please. As if he would touch her._

“ _This_ means Partnership, not Defense.” He watched her confusion turn to skepticism.

“No…see that symbol?” she asked, pointing at the board. “That’s ehwaz.”

“Yeah. I know.”

She gave a look that he recognized all too well. It was a look she sometimes gave Weasley, and he often gave Crabbe and Goyle. It was a sort of impatient look that said, _I’m right, and I know you’re wrong._

“ _So_ ,” she continued, “ehwaz means ‘defense’.”

Draco made his tone as condescending as possible. He wanted to wipe that look off her face. “No. You’re thinking of eihwaz. _Ehwaz_ means ‘partnership’. _Eihwaz_ means ‘defense’.”

Her superior expression flickered with doubt. He wondered if she’d ever been challenged before.

Draco sneered. “Using ‘defense’ changes the entire meaning of the translation. You’ll have to start from the beginning.”

She scowled down at the paper. “Wait,” she said very quietly, almost to herself. “No, I’m sure it means…” She let her sentence trail off. Draco should’ve just left it there. He was satisfied. She was wrong. _Don’t speak to her any more than you have to, Draco._

But he had to.

“Tell me, Granger. Are you actually good at anything? Or do you just memorize a bunch of facts and regurgitate them in class so professors will pat you on the head and give you a gold star?”

He saw her eye twitch in anger as she stared down at the paper.

_Go on. Break. Say something back. Do it._

He lowered his voice. “You know, if you ever need someone to check your essays for mistakes, you can always ask Longbottom. I know he’s dumber than a bag of rocks, but at least he’s pure-blood. _Better._ I’d offer to do it…but see, I can’t stand being near you.”

Her fist was clenched around her quill. Her eyes looked hard; he could practically feel her retort bubbling its way to the surface.

_Come on, do it._

But then, as suddenly as it appeared, her intensity slipped away. She took a deep breath and reached into her bag.

Draco’s shoulders actually sank with disappointment. _That was it?_ No clever comeback like in their second year? Draco seethed as Granger calmly took out another roll of parchment to begin her translation anew. He couldn’t believe that he had lowered himself to speak to her for nothing.

What would it take to get her to snap? It was like nothing he said or did had any effect on her at all! It was infuriating!

 _Well…. that wasn’t true._ She’d been awfully upset when he’d talked poorly about Hagrid. Maybe he would just stick to that…

Granger didn’t speak for the rest of class. Using her flawed translation as a guide, she started the assignment over.

And she still finished before everyone else in the room.

***

After the unfortunate encounter with Granger, Draco stuck to his earlier plan of not speaking to her at all. He couldn’t shake the feeling that – despite both correcting and insulting her, she had walked away from that confrontation as ‘the winner’.

Well…he assumed she walked away. He hadn’t actually seen her leave the room that day. One moment she was turning in the assignment – he’d looked away to check his watch – and then she was gone. It was very peculiar.

But that had happened months ago, and Draco had more important things to think about. _Really good_ things.

For starters, Sirius Black had broken into Hogwarts, which was some amazing progress in a very short amount of time. Honestly, this man was Draco’s new favorite person. If his track record held, Potter would be finished in no time.

On the downside, they’d all been forced to sleep in the Great Hall that night on Dumbledore’s orders. Miserable old git. He _knew_ Black was only interested in Potter. There was no reason they all had to suffer.

The second great thing to happen had been the Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff Quidditch match. It was supposed to be a match between Gryffindor and Slytherin, but there’d been a heavy storm that day and Draco did some quick thinking. He’d suggested that, since he was in no condition to compete with his arm, that Hufflepuff should play instead.

And then Gryffindor lost the match.

It had been a spectacular moment that culminated in Potter falling off his broom and plummeting towards the ground. Dementors had been on the field looking for Sirius Black ( _was he ever going to stop thanking this bloke?_ ) and Potter had fainted. Again. Draco couldn’t have imagined a better scenario.

The next day, his bandages had finally come off. Madam Pomfrey had taken them off a month ago, but Draco had put them back on in private. There was no way he was going to give it that quickly. He had finally decided he was officially done, and celebrated by doing various imitations of Potter falling off his broom, and of the dementors that made him do it. Weasley had eventually snapped and thrown something at him in Potions class, and Professor Snape took fifty points from Gryffindor.

_Sometimes, life was good…_

But the best thing to happen was that his father had sent him an owl with promising news. Their complaint about Hagrid’s hippogriff was being taken to _The Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures_.

If that wasn’t the most specific committee ever created, Draco didn’t know what was, but he was glad it existed. The hearing for the beast would take place on April 20th, and then the committee would ‘dispose’ of it. Draco just hoped he could watch.

This was by far Draco’s favorite year at Hogwarts. It was currently the last day of the Christmas holiday break, and he was excited to go back. It wasn’t that he was having a bad time at home; there were just so many things to look forward to back at school. He was _sure_ Slytherin would win the Quidditch Cup this year, now that Potter had botched the Hufflepuff match. And besides, he was ready to see his friends again. Sure, Crabbe and Goyle weren’t the most intellectual conversationalists, but they beat sitting here at the manor alone.

The beginning of the holiday break had been great. Christmas at the manor was far preferable to the one he had spent at Hogwarts last year. His mother always decorated every inch of space with some kind of green, red, gold, or silver. The whole house perpetually smelled of cinnamon and cloves, which was impressive given the size of the manor. His father had given Draco the finer details of the hearing and how he planned to make Hagrid look like fool in front of the committee. They’d spent a long time discussing the ridiculousness of giving the oaf a teaching position in the first place.

He always loved talks like that with his father. Draco admired the conviction he had. It was genuinely inspiring. If Lucius Malfoy believed he could accomplish something, it would be done.

Draco wished he was better at that.

On Christmas morning they’d exchanged gifts – his favorite being the book he’d been asking for, _Origins of Dark Runic Translations._ His father told him that it had been very hard to track down, as there were only a limited number of copies due to a legal issue that had occurred with the author. He had immediately packed it in his truck, so as not to forget it went he went back to Hogwarts.

They spent the holiday alone – just the three of them. Draco didn't have any family on his father’s side, and the family on his mother’s side was…unavailable. He had two aunts that he had never met, along with their husbands. One was in Azkaban for torturing Longbottom’s parents during the war; she and Draco’s uncle had been in prison since before he was born. Mother spoke of her fondly.

The other had been disowned from the family after she’d married a Mudblood. Draco also had a cousin that he had never met. His mother didn’t like to talk about her, but he knew her name was Nymphadora. He didn’t blame his mother for avoiding the subject; it was embarrassing. It was also mind-boggling that a pure-blooded witch of his aunt’s stature had married a Mudblood. Draco couldn’t make sense of it. _Hadn’t her parents taught her about Mudbloods?_

After Christmas his father went back to the Ministry, and his mother was off visiting some art gallery in Prague. She was upset that she didn’t get to stay for Draco’s last days at home, but he’d promised her that it was alright.

Bored and alone, Draco sat day-dreaming of Hogwarts. He was envisioning how the rest of the year was going to pan out. Slytherin would win the Quidditch Cup and Potter would know who the better seeker was. Hagrid’s hippogriff was going to be executed, Draco was going to rub it in Potty and Weasel’s faces, and Granger would either be devastated or furious. If she was furious, then she would yell at Draco and he would _finally_ get the rematch he was waiting for. If she would just make that first move…

Finally, in a best-case scenario, Sirius Black would throw Potter off the Astronomy Tower and go on a murderous rampage in the Gryffindor common room. Worst case scenario, Potter would just faint again from the dementors. Neither was a bad option.

And no matter what happened, Draco was going to beat Granger in exams this year if it was the last thing he’d ever do.

***

Draco slammed _Origins of Dark Runic Translations_ down on the library table with a loud bang, not caring if Madam Pince was around to hear and admonish him for it. If sitting in his favorite spot in the library to read a good book wasn’t enough to calm his fury, then nothing would. It was a far corner of the library, well-hidden and rarely visited. Nobody would bother Draco here.

He sat down and angrily flipped to where he’d left off (Chapter six – Hieroglyphs and Logograms), not caring if the pages got torn or damaged. When Draco started reading, it was several moments before he realized he’d been reading the same sentence over and over again.

He set the book down. It was no use; his mind kept replaying what had just happened.

It had been going so well. Slytherin defeated Ravenclaw in their Quidditch match right after holiday had ended. Ravenclaw was bound to beat Gryffindor, especially since Potter’s broom had been damaged by the Whomping Willow in the match against Hufflepuff.

Then Draco saw it.

Potter had the Firebolt. He’d actually rubbed his eyes to make sure he was seeing it correctly. But he was. Potter was showing it to all his friends in the Great Hall, obviously trying to rub it in Draco’s face.

And he was livid.

Father had flat out refused to buy Draco a Firebolt for Christmas, stating that his Nimbus 2001 was the best at the school, and nobody at Hogwarts would be getting a Firebolt any time soon. But _of course_ Saint Potter got a Firebolt. And now the Slytherin team was in trouble. If Gryffindor beat both Ravenclaw and Slytherin by enough points, they could potentially win the Quidditch Cup.

So, Draco did what anybody in his position would do.

He cheated.

The plan had been simple, and it hadn’t even _really_ been cheating. It was harmless. All he’d done was stand on the field with Crabbe, Goyle, and Flint, and pretend to be dementors during the match. It wasn’t like he murdered the Minister of Magic. He just wanted to scare Potter.

And yet, everything had gone wrong. Not only did Potter _not_ get scared by the ruse, but they’d been knocked off their feet with a strange, silvery spell, Gryffindor won the match, and Slytherin lost fifty house points.

It had been at that point that Draco stormed away from the roaring cheers of the Gryffindors, made his way to the Slytherin Common Room for his book, and headed straight for the library. He had no idea how he was going to beat Potter’s Firebolt in their next match, but all he wanted to do was turn off his brain and think of anything else.

Draco looked down at the book, willing himself to let all thoughts of Quidditch and Potter go. He took a deep breath and looked once more to the first sentence.

Draco got a few pages in when he decided he wanted to use _Spellman’s Syllabary_ as a cross-reference. He’d left his in the common room, so he got up from the table in search of the library’s copy. When he walked back to his alcove with the book in his hand, he found, to his surprise, that it was already occupied. A girl with very bushy hair was standing at his table with a hand on his book.

Granger.

His first instinct was to shout at her to _go away_.

But he stopped himself, remembering several things at once.

One, there was that pesky little rule he’d laid out for himself about speaking to Mudbloods. Well…one Mudblood in particular. He’d already broken that rule once and wasn’t looking to do it again. Second, he was still rather embarrassed about the Quidditch fiasco and really didn’t feel like being seen by anybody – least of all Granger.

Plus…he was curious. Why was _Hermione Granger_ interested in a book relating to the Dark Arts? She was definitely checking out the cover…

Before Draco knew what he was doing or could rationalize whether or not it was strange, he ducked behind a bookshelf directly to his right. He gently pushed books out of the way until he had a clear view of Granger while still remaining perfectly hidden.

_Yeah…this was definitely strange._

He watched as she casually checked her surroundings for the owner of the book, then, deciding she was alone, sat down and opened to the first page.

Draco scoffed quietly to himself. _The nerve of this girl!_ He couldn’t believe she actually walked up to a book that _clearly_ belonged to somebody else and just started reading it! _Was she mental?_

Draco shook his head, watching with incredulity as she sank comfortably into _his_ reading spot.

Really, it was almost amusing how somebody could have so little social awareness. She was oblivious to the world around her, already absorbed in the book in front of her.

Then again…he could hardly blame her. If _he_ had seen a copy of _Origins of Dark Runic Translations_ lying around, knowing how rare it was, he probably would be doing the same thing. And knowing Granger, he was _sure_ she knew about the book’s value. She probably never thought she would get to _see_ it, let alone _read_ it.

So, he watched her, unsure of how to get himself out of the predicament he’d put himself in. Draco was pretty sure that she would sit there and read the whole book if nobody interrupted her. And nobody was going to interrupt her – his reading spot was too well-hidden.

Come to think of it, Draco was surprised that _she_ had found his reading spot. It was his favorite place for a reason: nobody ever came here.

He wondered if she had a table nearby.

With a new goal in mind that wasn’t, “Watch Granger read for several hours,” he left _his_ hiding spot in search of _hers._

He didn’t have to look long. Only three shelves over was another table shoved discretely in an alcove. He was sure it was hers – there were about fifteen books laid out on the table, and four of them were open. He walked over and sat down.

Draco was surprised that he’d never seen this spot before. He wondered if it was where she liked to read when she was alone. Maybe they had even been here at the same time, reading silently a few shelves away from each other.

He wrinkled his nose, the thought making him uncomfortable. Draco turned his attention to the mountain of books on her desk. He peeked at the name of the opened book to his right. _Fowl or Foul? A Study of Hippogriff Brutality._

He snorted, then looked to the one on his left. _The Handbook of Hippogriff Psychology._

So. She thought she was helping Hagrid with the hearing, did she? _Please. What a joke._ Did she actually think she’d find something that would save it? That hippogriff was as good as dead.

Seeing how hard she was working on Hagrid’s defense just reaffirmed his assumptions. _Granger would be devastated when they lost the hearing._ And Draco was going to be there to rub it in.

He gave one last amused look at the hippogriff books, and turned to the other books piled in front of him. It was nothing alarming. Ancient Runes, Care of Magical Creatures, Transfiguration – the usual. Although the number of books she had _did_ seem high…

Impossibly high. _How could she be taking this many classes?_

A book on the bottom of a stack caught his eye. The spine read, _Numerology and Grammatica_.

Draco’s brow furrowed in confusion. _Numerology and Grammatica_ was the required textbook for Arithmancy. But that didn’t make any sense. Arithmancy was at the same time as Care of Magical Creatures. There was no way she could be taking it. Perhaps she just picked it up for some reading on the side.

Draco eyed the tower of books in front of him.

_Right. Like she needed more to read._

Now that Draco was thinking about it, he had rarely seen her without a book in her hands this year. It seemed as if she was studying twice as much as everyone else in their year – or in any year, really.

But that wasn’t all that surprising, he supposed. She was a Mudblood. She probably had to work twice as hard as real wizards in order to keep up. That’s what his father would say.

Somewhere to his right, Draco heard a muffled thud, followed by soft swearing.

Granger. She was coming back.

Draco leaped out of the chair and moved to the nearest bookshelf. His foot caught on the leg of the desk and he tumbled to the ground, cursing under his breath. Sending a silent thank you that nobody had seen him fall, he got up and dove behind the bookshelf.

And not a moment too soon.

Granger walked up with a book tucked under her arm and sat down at the extremely cluttered table. Draco was relieved to see that it wasn’t his book that she had taken. He had half expected her to steal it - judging by the way she had so easily sat down to read it.

He wondered why she’d stopped. Was it because the material was too ‘evil’, or was it because she didn’t want to be caught? Probably the latter. Granger struck him as someone who would appreciate knowledge for knowledge’s sake.

He rolled his eyes at himself. Obviously she liked knowledge. She had half the bloody library on her table.

 _Why wasn’t she in Ravenclaw?_ It was not the first time he’d thought that. Ravenclaw seemed to fit much better than Gryffindor. It was just, in general, better. If Draco hadn’t been _born_ a Slytherin, then Ravenclaw was the next obvious choice.

Granger closed the books on Hippogriffs, set her new book down on the table, and pulled out _Numerology and Grammatica._ Draco watched as she reached into her bag to take out some parchment and began making a diagram.

 _Hm. So she was clearly in Arithmancy if she was doing homework._ How could she be in Arithmancy _and_ Care of Magical Creatures? Something dodgy was going on here and Draco wanted to know what it was.

A new thought occurred to him.

 _Why was she here?_ Gryffindor had just won a match and was probably throwing a party. That’s what Slytherin did when they won. And he had _seen_ her at the match. _So why was she here?_

Quite abruptly, Granger threw down her quill and put her face in her hands, making a strange sort of sound – like a sigh and a sob. She held still for a few moments, then ran her hands back through her hair and took a calming breath. That’s when Draco noticed the dark circles under her eyes.

_What was she up to?_

Then he remembered something else. She hadn’t been sitting with Weasley at the match. And now that he was thinking about it, he hadn’t seen her with Potter and Weasley for a _while_. Since they got back from holiday, actually.

Draco scowled.

In any other circumstance, a friendless Granger would delight him. In his first year, he’d been surprised that a Mudblood could make friends _at all_. But now, it was an inconvenience. In order for his plan to come together perfectly, Granger had to be there. She had to be with Potter and Weasley so that he could get to her, _through_ them.

Granger put her quill back down. Apparently deciding she couldn’t do any more work, she began stuffing her books back into her bag.

Draco blinked and stepped away from the bookshelf, realizing how long he’d been standing there…watching her. It was an abnormal amount of time.

He moved as quietly as he could through the bookshelves back to his table and sat down, his head full of questions.

He wondered why Granger was avoiding Potter and Weasley. Had they done something to her? Said something? Maybe _they_ were avoiding _her._ Maybe Weasley finally realized he was a pure-blood and befriending Granger made him a blood traitor.

He also wondered how she could be taking so many classes. He saw a book for every possible elective on her desk. Was she attending private lessons? If so, his father would not be pleased to hear that a Mudblood was getting special treatment.

He wondered if all of these things contributed to the dark circles under her eyes, and how she looked more and more exhausted every day.

And finally he wondered _why_ he wondered all of these things. It wasn’t like he cared.

So he opened up _Origins of Dark Runic Translations_ and let all thoughts of Quidditch and Mudbloods drift away.

***

As it happened, the hearing that was supposed to take place on April 20th took place in February instead. Draco’s father had told the committee all about how he couldn’t use his arm for three months and how dangerous hippogriffs were, et cetera, et cetera.

Which meant now, in April, the results of the hearing were finally in. Father had sent him an owl two days ago. They had won.

He was itching to bring it up in Care of Magical Creatures, where Hagrid had spent the entire lesson on the verge of tears. He was a blithering halfwit, and a completely inadequate professor, but it wasn’t _him_ who Draco wanted a go at. It was Potter and his friends.

He’d noticed that Granger was hanging around Potter and Weasley again, which was perfect timing for Draco. Now he could finally rub his victory in all their stupid faces.

They were walking back up to the castle with Hagrid after class had finished, and Draco made sure to hang back with Crabbe and Goyle. ‘Potty and friends’ were having a sad little conversation with Professor Oaf, and it was hilarious.

“S’all my fault,” he was saying to the three of them. Draco looked behind him to see Hagrid blowing his big nose in a handkerchief. Potter, Weasley, and Granger looked on with concern.

“Got all tongue-tied. They was all sittin’ there in black robes an’ I kep’ droppin’ me notes and forgettin’ all them dates yeh looked up fer me, Hermione.”

Draco snorted. The fool probably could’ve had a decent chance if he wasn’t such an idiot.

“An’ then Lucius Malfoy stood up an’ said his bit, and the Committee jus’ did exac’ly what he told ‘em…” He blew his nose, loud as a trumpet.

He smirked. _Actually, no._ Hagrid didn’t have _any_ chance – not with Father leading the charge. He looked back again. Weasley’s face was red with indignation.

“There’s still the appeal!” Weasley said furiously. “Don’t give up yet, we’re working on it.”

Draco looked at Crabbe and Goyle and they all burst out laughing.

“If Weasley’s working on the appeal, we’ve got nothing to worry about,” Draco said under his laughter as they reached the castle steps.

“Not that we did before,” Goyle said, shaking his head. They stood just inside the doors, listening.

“I’m jus’ gonna make sure the rest o’ Beaky’s time is the happiest he’s ever had. I owe him that…” Hagrid said, wiping tears from his eyes.

God, it wasn’t even dead yet. Draco couldn’t imagine how he’d act _after_ the execution. The giant blew his nose once more and turned back toward his cabin, leaving the three Gryffindors alone.

It was too perfect.

“Look at him blubber!” Draco exclaimed loudly as he stepped out of the castle entrance and walked over to them. Crabbe and Goyle followed closely behind, snickering. Potter and Weasley whipped their heads around angrily, but Draco was just getting started.

“Have you ever seen anything quite as pathetic?” he said, derisively. “And he’s supposed to be our teacher!”

Potter and Weasley both took heated steps towards him, but before he could react, he caught a flash of movement to his right.

BAM!

Draco felt a sharp pain and staggered back. He brought his hand to his nose; it came away bloody. He looked to see _Granger_ standing before him with her fist clenched.

She hit him. She actually hit him.

Granger raised her fist again. “Don’t you _dare_ call Hagrid pathetic, you foul – you evil –”

“Hermione!” said Weasley, trying to grab her hand.

“Get _off,_ Ron!”

She pulled out her wand and pointed it at Draco.

He stepped backwards. Nobody else moved. Crabbe and Goyle looked at him for instruction, but Draco wasn’t paying attention to them. He had his eyes locked on Granger, and she was looking right back. She had never looked at him this way before; she hardly ever met his eye! But now her gaze held fire and fury and it was all directed at Draco. The wand was not an empty threat. He could see the conviction in her eyes.

His mind was blank except for one thought.

 _Get out. Get out. Get out._

“C’mon,” he muttered to Crabbe and Goyle, and before he knew it the three of them were racing down the hall. Crabbe and Goyle still said nothing, and Draco was far too occupied to care.

That. Mudblood. _Bitch._

That _barbaric Mudblood_ _bitch_!

Granger had just punched him in the face. _Granger_. She had insulted him and _pointed her wand at him._

And Draco had done nothing. _Why had he done nothing?_ A Mudblood punched him in the face and he’d done nothing in retaliation. If his Father ever heard about this –

A sickening thought occurred to him.

He had just been punched by a _girl._

It was hard to think of Granger as one, but she was. If the school found out…

He turned, suddenly, and grabbed Crabbe and Goyle by their shirt collars, forcing them to stop. They looked somewhat afraid; his fury must show on his face.

“Do _not_ breathe a word of this to anyone,” he hissed. “Do you hear? Not one. Word.”

They nodded thickly and he let go of their shirts. They walked further down the hall, and Draco stopped them at the entrance to a bathroom.

“Wait here,” he said. “I need to wash up.” And he stormed into the bathroom.

Draco walked right up to a mirror and immediately grimaced. She’d gotten him good. There was dried blood under his nose and on his lips. He wet his hands in the sink and began angrily washing it off his face.

Clearly, _clearly,_ it had been a mistake to ignore Granger. She’d mistaken his silence for apathy, rather than loathing. That, and she didn’t fear him at all.

He knew she loathed him – he saw it in her face. But did she understand the full extent of his hatred for her? She couldn’t. Not when he’d been ignoring her like he had.

He was suddenly furious with himself. Something he said had _finally_ affected her; finally shattered her calm exterior. But she didn’t break, like he thought she would. She didn’t cry or run away. She _snapped._

He’d been such a fool. He thought they would have a rematch – a battle of wits – a verbal spar! Draco thought he would surely come out on top this time.

But she was the one who did the hurting, and he was the one who ran away.

The fact of the matter was, she was not afraid of Draco, she did not know her place, and now, she probably felt superior.

He needed to make sure she _knew_ he wasn’t afraid of her. That he _hated_ her. That he was _better than her._

If she wanted a fight, he’d give her a fight. No more indifference. No more ignoring. Now, he was going on the offensive.

Now, Granger had his attention.

And she wasn’t going to like it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So.....too long? Should I have split it up again? I'm really nervous about these things I just don't know...
> 
> I decided to keep the punch from the movie rather than the slap from the book. I wanted to do the slap, I really did. But the badass-ness was too much for me to ignore. RIP slap.
> 
> Up next is fourth year I'm PUMPED! It's gonna be another long one though...
> 
> As always, I love comments! They are my lifeblood! Thanks for reading! Too! Many! Exclamations!


	5. A Wandering Mind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. That took me a long time I am so sorry.
> 
> Did you know I was voted 'Worst Procrastinator' way back in High School? Well I was.
> 
> Anyways, this chapter is brought to you by Reminiscing.

“ _Move.”_

Crabbe expertly shoved aside an excited-looking first-year as easily as sliding back a curtain. The rapidly growing crowd standing outside of the Hogwarts entrance would be daunting to move through for most people, but not for Draco. He had Crabbe and Goyle to push their way through. The first-year Hufflepuff turned around indignantly, saw that it was Crabbe who’d shoved her, and promptly disappeared into the bustling mob.

The air was abuzz with animated conversation; every student was waiting with anticipation for the arrival of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang – wondering how and when they would appear. While most were looking to the grounds, Draco kept his eyes on the lake, throwing the occasional glance upwards towards the sky. He had read extensively about Beauxbatons and Durmstrang and had surmised the different methods they might use to travel.

“Malfoy,” Crabbe said, gazing doubtfully at the moon-flooded night sky. “They’re not actually coming in a flying carriage, are they? I mean, it would have to be…” He trailed off, as though thinking about it was exerting too much energy.

Goyle hit him on the arm. “Come off it. He was just taking the piss, weren’t you?” he asked, looking back at Draco with a smug grin.

He shrugged lazily, long past bored with the topic. He’d been telling them for weeks about the tournament. They would see for themselves soon enough.

Draco, of course, had known about the Triwizard Tournament _long_ before Dumbledore had announced it at the start-of-term feast. Father had told him everything – _including_ which schools were competing. He’d felt smug watching all the other students looking around in shock. Not even Weasley had known about the tournament, which was especially pathetic given both his father _and brother_ worked for the Ministry. What was the point of knowing people in positions of power if you couldn’t take advantage of it?

The only thing Draco’s father hadn’t known, and had therefore failed to mention, was the new age restriction. The rule didn’t really bother him; he didn’t know if he would have even entered anyways. He wasn’t afraid, or anything. It was just that Draco already had fame and fortune. No need to risk his neck for a prize he already had.

_Although…it would have been nice to upstage Potter…_

Draco would bet a thousand galleons that Potty and Weasel would enter the tournament if they could. Potter never passed on an opportunity to show off, and Weasley’s family could live off the prize money, probably forever.

 _Hell, maybe even Granger would’ve entered_. The Mudblood just _loved_ proving she knew more than everyone else in the room.

Now he would never get to watch Potter get eaten by a manticore in front of a large audience – or whatever the bloody challenges were. _Oh well._

It didn’t matter. The _real_ excitement would come from getting to watch _Viktor Krum_ compete in the Triwizard Tournament. As soon as Father had told him Durmstrang was one of the schools competing, Draco knew that Krum would be one of the Champions. He was sure of it; he’d seen him fly at the Quidditch World Cup over the summer. Best Quidditch player he’d ever seen, and the most memorable game he’d ever watched.

Though…not as interesting as what had happened _after._

Draco remembered when his father had told him they were going to the World Cup. He’d been thrilled, obviously, but didn’t show it; Malfoy men never lost their composure. His mother however, had given a dramatic gasp and squeezed Draco’s shoulder with the strength of a mountain troll.

“Draco! How exciting for you! I can’t believe it; England gets to host the Cup while you’re playing Quidditch in school?” Her eyes and nose crinkled into a smile as she shook his shoulder. “How lucky is that?”

He indulged her. It was hard not to. “Very lucky, Mother. I’ll have to take notes while I’m there.”

She laughed and let go of his arm. Lucius cleared his throat.

“As I was saying, Cornelius Fudge _himself_ has invited us to sit in the Minister’s box.” He turned his steely eyes to Draco. “Which wasn’t _luck_. This is a good opportunity for you to meet some very important people, Draco. You will not embarrass me in front of Fudge.”

“Of course, Father.”

_When had he ever?_

His father turned back to Narcissa and lowered his voice, which Draco found odd given that he hd not been dismissed and could hear every word.

“Avery sent me an owl this morning. It seems he and Macnair will be in attendance. As well as Crabbe and Goyle. Maybe a few others.”

A look passed between his parents that Draco couldn’t place. His mother’s face wasn’t quite stern… Cautious perhaps? Suspicious? She raised an eyebrow.

“Oh?” Her casual tone seemed forced and slightly higher than usual. “Any particular plans?”

His father narrowed his eyes. “No. No plans yet. Just thought I would let you know.” They searched each other’s faces for another moment before remembering that Draco was still in the room.

That conversation should’ve been his first clue.

The match itself had been amazing. It didn’t even matter that the Weasley family was there in the Top Box too, along with Potter and Granger. It didn’t matter, but it did surprise him. He wondered if Potter used his fame to get them the seats. _Probably_. The Weasley’s certainly didn’t _buy_ the tickets.

He also wondered why Granger was there. He knew she didn’t give a damn about Quidditch; especially given that Potter wasn’t the one on the pitch. It just supported his theory that Granger had to dumb herself down to be friends with those idiots. _What else was she forcing herself to do in order to have friends?_ There was no way Potter and Weasley liked her the way she _was_.

When the match was over his father met with the Death Eaters.

Now, nobody ever actually said the words, ‘ _Death Eater’._ But Draco wasn’t stupid. He knew what this reunion of ‘friends’ was – who they were before the end of the war.

He watched, enthralled, as they spoke loudly about everything they would never talk about in public: The match and the Ministry and Mudbloods and Muggles. They were a rowdy bunch. It was very odd to Draco that his father fit in with this lot. His father, who spent so much time maintaining the Malfoy public image, was sitting with a very incriminating group of wizards, a Firewhisky in hand and a smug grin on his face. Draco was fascinated by the dynamic.

Then he caught a glimpse of his mother. The two of them were sitting away from the group – apart, but present. He raised a brow.

Her face was blank. A mask. Hiding some emotion he couldn't perceive.

A bottle crashed to the ground and was met by raucous laughter. His mother flinched at the noise. She was on edge about _something_ , that much was clear. Draco nudged her with his shoulder.

“Is everything alright?”

She jumped, startled that somebody had spoken to her. Her eyes focused on his face, and Draco watched as her mask morphed into one of poise and pleasantness. She smiled at him.

“Everything’s fine, why do you ask?”

He opened his mouth to respond when a thunderous laugh drowned out all other noise in the room. It was Avery. He’d vanished the broken bottle and had a replacement firmly in his grasp.

“Don’t be fucking twat,” Avery shouted jovially, gesturing with his drink and sloshing a good portion onto the floor. “Of course I would! Let’s go, I’m ready now!”

Coming to some sort of resolution, the men stood one by one, setting down their drinks and pulling out their wands. Macnair conjured up a set of very dark robes.

After that it was quick dismissal from his father, followed by a word of caution from his mother, and Draco found himself alone in the woods, leaning on a tree and watching the resultant chaos from a faraway place concealed by thick foliage.

He had seen them, the Death Eaters – _his father_ , march through the camping grounds. He had watched as they levitated a Muggle family high up into the air, spinning them around and around, holding them upside down and sideways.

He had always known it, but it struck Draco then how very _weak_ Muggles were. How very defenseless. He wondered why the wizarding world had to hide from them. He wondered why _he_ was hiding now – though of course, he knew his parents had wanted him as far away from what was going on as possible. It wasn’t as though it was exactly _legal._

A shout of pain and a _thud_ alerted Draco to the presence of three figures emerging from the clearing. It was dark in the forest, but Draco recognized the owner of the voice that spoke next with a jolt of alarm.

“What happened?”

_Granger._

He couldn’t believe that of all the bloody people at the World Cup, he’d run into _them._ Because of course, where there was Granger, there was sure to be Potter and–

“Ron!” She stopped in her tracks. “Where are you? Oh this is stupid – _lumos!”_

The tip of her wand illuminated the scene to reveal Potter and Granger in the middle of the clearing near Draco’s hiding spot. They were standing over an angry-looking Weasley, who was sprawled out on the dirt.

 _Prat._ Draco was surprised to see them still so close to the campsite. He would’ve thought that at least Granger would be smart enough to know not be caught anywhere near the Death Eaters.

_Do they even know…?_

“Tripped over a tree root,” Weasley said, getting to his feet. Draco took it as his opening.

“Well, with feet that size, hard not to.”

His remark was rewarded with three heads quickly snapping to his direction, surprise evident on their faces.

Weasley scowled. “Fuck off, Malfoy.”

Draco was unfazed, enjoying having the upper hand in the situation. He was calm. He had nothing to fear. They, however, were panicked and confused – the perfect position to toy with.

“Language, Weasley,” he said, letting a dangerous edge creep into his voice. “Hadn’t you better be running along, now?” He nodded at Granger. “You wouldn’t want _her_ spotted, would you?”

His words were punctuated by a loud blast from the campsite. An explosion briefly lit the surrounding trees with a flash of green light.

Granger stared him down, perhaps emboldened by her last act of retribution during their previous encounter.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked defiantly.

Draco narrowed his eyes. _Did she really not know what kind of danger she was in?_ This whole time he’d been thinking she was indifferent to his hatred. Indifferent to the hatred of all pure-bloods. He’d thought she understood. But this…this was just _ignorance._ If his father saw her – especially _her_ – she would join the Muggles in a heartbeat.

Well, if she didn’t know, Draco was delighted to tell her.

“Granger, they’re after _Muggles_.” He turned to her, noticing the determined look in her eyes falter. He grinned at her wickedly. “D’you want to be showing off your knickers in midair?”

An image of Granger hanging upside-down, hair swaying and white cotton knickers on display flashed unbidden in his mind. He blinked and shook it away, the wild thought distracting him for a second before he continued.

“Because if you do, hang around… they’re moving this way, and it would give us all a laugh.”

Potter took a furious step forward. “Hermione’s a witch,” he snarled.

Draco shrugged.

“Have it your way, Potter. If you think they can’t spot a Mudblood, stay where you are.”

“You watch your mouth,” Weasley shouted, moving towards Draco with his fists clenched. Granger grabbed his arm, halting his efforts. Draco squinted at her, lips quirking up involuntary in amusement.

_Hypocrite._

An ear shattering _BOOM_ that could be felt though the ground sounded not too far from the other side of the trees. To their enormous credit, none of the Gryffindors jumped in surprise, though several terrified shrieks echoed from around the forest. Draco chuckled darkly.

“Scare easily, don’t they? I suppose your daddy told you all to hide? What’s he up to – trying to rescue the Muggles?”

He could see Potter was losing his temper. Merlin, they were easy to rile up. Weasley would have already attacked Draco if not for Granger’s interference. This was all just a little too easy.

“Where’re _your_ parents?” Potter asked with a scowl. “Out there wearing masks, are they?”

Draco’s smile widened.

“Well… if they were, I wouldn't be likely to tell you, would I, Potter?”

Granger, playing the pacifist, grabbed Potter and Weasley and made to leave.

“Oh come on, let’s go find the others,” she said, throwing a truly disgusted look Draco’s way.

 _Good_.

He was glad she was finally disgusted with him. It was the first time she had really _seen._

“Keep that big bushy head down, Granger,” he called after her.

“Come _on_ ,” she repeated, and pulled the boys back on the path and off into the woods.

Draco smiled and leaned back onto his tree, turning his attention back to the chaos his father had created, deeply satisfied. _Finally_ , she was starting to get the true scope of his hatred for her. The hatred that all pure-blood wizards felt. The hatred that was strong enough to spark Death Eaters to action even _thirteen_ _years_ after their master had disappeared. It wasn’t simply schoolyard bullying that she could hold her head high at. It was bigger than _her_ and _him._ This kind of hatred ran deep _._

In any case, all of this on its own would have made the Quidditch World Cup a memorable event.

But then somebody had cast the Dark Mark.

Father had sworn up and down to Mother that he had _no idea_ who’d cast it. He said that none of them would’ve dared. Draco just wondered how the Dark Lord would’ve responded to the whole incident. Surely he would’ve been in support of what his father had done. And yet, when the Dark Mark had been cast his parents had found him straight away in quite the hurry to depart. They had seemed almost…scared.

“ _Aha_!”

The blithe yet commanding voice of Dumbledore brought Draco’s attention back to the present.

“Unless I am very much mistaken,” he announced, “the delegation from Beauxbaton approaches!”

A murmur broke out as his fellow classmates scrambled about in search of the arriving school in all the wrong places. Draco looked up to the sky, spotting them immediately.

They were hard to miss. An enormous shape (that Draco knew to be a carriage) was coming towards them, its silhouette against the dark blue sky growing larger and larger the closer it got to the castle. Finally, a sixth year pointed it out in the air, alerting the rest of the school with an alarmed shout.

While he had guessed correctly about Beauxbaton’s manner of travel, nothing could have prepared Draco for the reality of the admittedly remarkable display before him. The powder-blue carriage, which was being pulled by the largest horses he had ever seen, was roughly the size of a _house_.

Well. A poor person’s house, at least. Maybe Weasley’s.

When it landed ungracefully on the lawn, the largest _woman_ Draco had ever seen climbed out and joined them, right at home amidst the other disproportionately massive things to arrive at their doorstep. She went straight to Dumbledore, parting the sea of stunned Hogwarts students as easily as a knife through butter, and greeted him like an old friend.

Draco narrowed his eyes. This woman, _Madam Maxime,_ Dumbledore called her – _had_ to be half-giant. There was simply no other explanation. He scowled, thinking of Hagrid, and eyed the oversized horses with a new sense of caution. If these things were anything like the hippogriffs, Draco was going to keep his distance.

When the few chosen Beauxbaton students piled out onto the grounds, he half-expected them to be just as large and strange as their headmistress had been. Instead, Draco was almost disappointed to note how average they seemed. _How boring._ Just a dozen-or-so boys and girls in powder-blue uniforms to match the carriage, huddled together and eyeing the castle with thinly-veiled skepticism.

Draco looked them over, unimpressed. Besides one _seriously_ good-looking witch with silvery-blonde hair, there was nothing remarkable about these foreign newcomers.

Well, other than their Headmistress.

_What kind of wizard willingly chooses to learn magic from a half-giant?_

Then again, Beauxbaton was a fairly prestigious school. Nicolas Flamel himself had studied there before creating the Philosopher’s Stone. Draco read that their school was adorned with the riches he’d donated throughout his unnaturally long life.

They all hurried inside the castle to escape the cold while the mob of Hogwarts students turned once more to await the appearance of their final visitors. Draco was just beginning to get restless when he saw an unnatural movement in the center of the lake. With a roar that seemed to fill the air around them, a magnificent ship burst out of the dark water, creating a wave that rippled out to the edge of the lake and onto the shore.

In no time at all, a dozen Durmstrang students with great cloaks of heavy fur were marching up to the castle. As they made their way up to the crowd Draco squinted his eyes, searching not for Krum, but for his Headmaster.

“Dumbledore!”

There he was. The man that Draco knew to be Igor Karkaroff. He stepped right through the throng of students to greet the Hogwarts Headmaster in an oily, groveling voice that was entirely too enthusiastic to be genuine.

“How are you, my dear fellow, how are you?” Karkaroff stepped forward and shook Dumbledore’s hand with both of his.

“Blooming, thank you, Professor Karkaroff,” he replied in a perfectly respectful tone.

Draco raised a brow, staring at where their hands met in an unmistakable gesture of friendship and familiarity.

Were the two of them putting on a show or something? This had to be false camaraderie. Father had told him all about Karkaroff – how he used to be a former Death Eater before testifying in front of the Wizengamot for leniency. It was a bit much for Draco to accept that he and the Mudblood-loving _Albus Dumbledore_ were the best of mates.

Unless Dumbledore was a fool – and Draco didn’t think he _was_ , despite his hatred for the old man – there was no way he thought Karkaroff had changed for the better. Anyone could see that he still lived by the old ways. He was the Headmaster of Durmstrang for fuck’s sake.

Durmstrang was known by its propensity for the Dark Arts, as it was featured heavily in the curriculum and supported by faculty. They also didn’t allow the admittance of Mudbloods. Father had wanted Draco to attend Durmstrang for those very reasons, but Mother hadn’t wanted him to be at a school so far from home. Draco didn’t blame her, but he had to admit that Durmstrang crossed his mind on occasion. How nice would it have been to go to school with proper wizards? Not to mention that he would’ve been in classes with _Viktor Krum._

The Quidditch player in question was standing inconspicuously to the right of Karkaroff, staring up at Hogwarts with a sort of curious expression. Draco could only assume he was curious – his thick eyebrows gave off the impression that he was perpetually scowling.

Dumbledore and Karkaroff finished their pleasantries as the gathering of students began to fidget in the chilly night air. Slowly at first, and then moving much more rapidly, a wave of gasps moved through the crowd. Draco rolled his eyes. _They must have spotted Krum_.

Making herself heard in a way that only _she_ could in a group this chaotic, Professor McGonagall ushered both schools back inside the warm castle and into the Great Hall.

As soon as they made it back to the Slytherin table Draco grabbed Crabbe and Goyle, forcing them into specific seats to his left, and across from him. This left the spot next to Draco on the right wide open.

“What was that for, then?” Goyle said grumpily, turning towards the table and rubbing his shoulder where Draco had pushed on it. Draco gestured to the doors of the Great hall with his chin.

“See that?” he asked. The Beauxbaton students had already settled in at the Ravenclaw table, but Krum and his fellow Durmstrang classmates were huddled in the entrance, taking off their fur cloaks and surveying the room. Their uniforms were a bright crimson red clearly made for living in cold temperatures. Half of the Durmstrang lot were staring up at the enchanted ceiling, evidently impressed, while the other half apprehensively decided where to sit.

“They’ve got to sit here,” Draco said, mostly to himself. “This is the only table they’d enjoy sitting at.”

“Only table without any Mudbloods,” Goyle murmured, head turned over his shoulder to watch the Bulgarians in the doorway. Crabbe grunted in agreement. Draco had told them about Durmstrang on the Hogwarts Express and the two had responded with particular interest.

Krum’s friend nudged him on the arm and nodded towards the Slytherin table. They started walking over.

“ _I knew it_ ,” Draco hissed, maintaining his cool composure. Karkaroff must have told his students about the Slytherins. He could’ve even have told them specifically about the Malfoys and his past affiliation with Draco’s father.

Draco could not keep the smug grin off his face as Krum and his friend slid into the two empty seats to his right. The bright red of their uniforms looked slightly out of place amidst the sea of green, but this worked to his advantage. Krum was like a beacon shouting to the rest of the school that he had chosen to sit by Draco. He could just make out the bewildered face of Weasley from the corner of his eye. He savored the jealousy, reveling in it. Knowing that Weasley – and likely Potter – were watching, Draco leaned forward to speak to Krum.

“Draco Malfoy,” he said, extending his hand. “Welcome to Hogwarts.”

“Viktor Krum,” he responded, shaking his hand once in a stiff movement with the same sullen facial expression he’d had since arriving. Draco wondered if he was currently unhappy, or if his face was eternally this surly.

“Pleasure to meet you, Krum.”

The name _Malfoy_ hadn’t seemed to spark any familiarity, but Draco wasn’t disheartened. He nodded at Crabbe and Goyle, introducing them. “So, you’re from Durmstrang?” he asked, hoping to spark _some_ reaction from this bloke. “What’s it like there?”

Krum thought about it for a moment. “It is very cold.”

Draco blinked.

“Right. And they teach you a great deal of Dark Arts at this school, do they?”

Krum’s face betrayed no emotion apart from the ever-present scowl, but his eyes wandered away from the table, skimming the room in front of him.

“Ve learn many things.”

This piqued Draco’s interest ( _what kinds of things?_ ) but he pushed no further, turning the topic to one Krum knew well.

“So do you play on Durmstrang’s Quidditch team? Or does Durmstrang not have a team? I just assumed – Hogwarts has four, you see. One for each house.” Draco sat up in his chair. “I’m seeker for my team,” he added importantly.

At last Krum seemed more at ease, which was only discernable by the slight lifting of his eyebrows, but Draco was taking it as a win.

“Ve do have Quidditch, though I am not allowed to play.” Krum clapped his friend on the shoulder. “Poliakoff is seeker. It is nice for me to vatch.”

Draco opened his mouth to say more, but a great silence fell over the Great Hall. Dumbledore was standing up on the dais, waiting to make yet another nonsensical welcome announcement. Draco rolled his eyes upwards and turned to face his Headmaster. If Karkaroff was pretending to respect Dumbledore, then so would he. At least in front of Krum.

The rest of the feast passed as usual, with the added bonus of striking up more conversation with Viktor Krum. He wasn’t particularly loquacious, but it beat spending the evening watching Crabbe stuff his face while attempting to string together one intelligent thought or listening to Blaise prattle on and on about his mother’s latest fiancé.

Before long, Dumbledore announced the rules of the tournament and brought out the Goblet of Fire, explaining its function and design – things that Draco was already privy to. And just like that, the feast was over. Karkaroff led the Durmstrang students back to their ship while Draco headed back to the Slytherin common room with Crabbe and Goyle, confident that he had just become acquaintances with one of the greatest international Quidditch players of all time.

Draco woke up the next day, bright and early, happy for the weekend. He was depending more and more on Saturdays like today and was glad that it happened to be an exceptionally interesting one. After taking his time getting ready for the morning, he, Crabbe and Goyle made their way down to the entrance hall for breakfast to watch the seventh years step over the age line and put their names in the Goblet of Fire. Cassius Warrington from the Slytherin Quidditch team had put his name in last night, so Draco at least had one person to root for from Hogwarts if he was selected.

Several Durmstrang students came forward to put their names in, including Poliakoff from last night. Directly following him was the girl from Beauxbatons with the silvery-blonde hair. His eyes followed her up onto the dais and didn’t leave her until she disappeared beyond the doors of the Great Hall, moving with an air of grace to suggest a sort of weightlessness. There was something… mesmerizing about her. Maybe it was the way she appeared to glide rather than walk. Maybe it was her long, waist-length hair. It had appeared to be faintly glowing by the light of the moon when she had arrived yesterday, but even inside it had the same shimmery effect. It couldn’t be natural.

He glanced at Pansy. Her jet-black hair was straight and silky but lacked the hypnotic quality of the girl’s from Beauxbaton. Surely if there was some hair-beautifying charm she would be casting it on herself daily. Unless she wasn’t talented enough. He looked over at Granger and smirked to himself, amused at the irony. She was definitely talented enough, but a spell like that probably wouldn’t work on the rat’s nest she called her hair. Not that she would ever try; Granger looked as though she’d never owned a mirror in her life.

After breakfast, Draco parted ways with the others and headed to the library to read, keen to have some time to himself for a bit. Though it was only the end of October, Draco felt classes were becoming a chore. Between Hagrid’s Skrewts and Mad-Eye Moody, he needed a break.

It seemed as though every year he was going to be forced to deal with some new, horrible Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. First was Quirrell, the stuttering mess, followed by the biggest git Draco ever had the misfortune to learn from…not that Lockhart taught them anything other than _how to be a twat._ Remus Lupin was a fucking _werewolf_ that was somehow allowed to teach _children._ Draco didn’t know how Dumbledore’s job was still intact.

This year was no different. They had hired a psychotic loon with one good eye and a dark wizard complex.

Draco _hated_ him.

Not only did he continuously remind him of his father’s past affiliations from some delusional place of superiority, but he’d _transfigured Draco into a ferret._

It had hurt. A lot. Moody battered him against the stone floor too many times to count before McGonagall had put a stop to it.

Draco’s main problem with it however, _besides_ the fact that it was against every rule ever, was that it had happened in front of Potter. More specifically, Potter, Weasley, and Granger.

Although he’d been properly disoriented at the time, he’d caught a glance of them as Moody dragged him out. Potter and Weasley were having a right laugh. It was complete rubbish – the whole thing. He’d been sending a hex Potter’s way when Moody came in and made everything unfair. He was a bloody ex-Auror! Draco hadn’t stood a chance!

It didn’t matter. He would get them all back for it. He’d written to Father to see if something could be done about Moody. And Potter would get his. Nobody laughed at Draco Malfoy.

 _Except_ …

Draco sat down at his private table and opened his book, remembering something else from that day that he hadn’t given himself a chance to think about.

Granger hadn’t been laughing.

It didn’t make any sense, but he’d _seen_ her face; she hadn’t looked thrilled like Potter and Weasley. She’d seemed…worried.

And what was more, he’d seen that look before – the day he was attacked by Hagrid’s Hippogriff. She’d looked concerned. Granger was concerned about _him._

 _No_. It wasn’t concern; that wouldn’t make any bit of sense. It had to be something else, worse than concern. _Pity_. That had to be it. Granger had pitied him. A Mudblood had pitied _his_ circumstances _._ And whether it was genuine, or a tactic to rile him up, Draco hated it.

He rubbed his eyes, scowling at the revelation. _How did he get here?_ Sometimes it still baffled him. Repeatedly bested by Potter no matter how much better Draco was, and pitied by a Mudblood. Struck by a Mudblood. Outdone by a Mudblood.

Things would be so much easier if he had been a student at Durmstrang. There were no ‘Hermione Grangers’ at Durmstrang. Potter would be nothing but a name from a story. Draco would probably be a natural at the Dark Arts, learning all the different things one could do to their enemies. He couldn’t get anything like that from Hogwarts.

_Although…_

He sighed. While, giving any sort of credit to Professor Moody made Draco physically ill, he had to admit that his lesson on the Unforgivable Curses had been a proper one. Not like those glorified _Witch Weekly_ fluff pieces that Lockhart had tried to pass off as teaching, or the nervous book regurgitations of Professor Quirrell.

Draco had obviously known about all three curses beforehand, though most of his classmates hadn’t even heard of them. He wondered if Potter knew. If he had even bothered to learn the name of the curse that killed his parents. Probably not. He was sure that Granger knew; she had probably answered all of Moody’s questions with pinpoint accuracy when Gryffindor had their lesson. _Then again, perhaps not._ Draco only knew about the curses through personal reasons.

He knew the Imperius Curse because of his father. That’s how he had avoided going to Azkaban after the War. Father had told the Aurors that the Dark Lord put him under the influence of the curse. It was a lie easily sold by his family’s prestigious reputation at the Ministry.

Draco knew about the Cruciatus Curse because of his Aunt Bellatrix. Father had told him years ago, much to his mother’s disapproval. It was how her sister had gotten herself locked up in Azkaban – casting it on Longbottom’s parents to the point of insanity. Since then, he’d always wondered how it would feel; both to curse and be cursed. He wasn’t terribly anxious to find out either way, but it _would_ be interesting to try it on a spider or something, like Moody had.

Although he often spent large amounts of time daydreaming ways to physically harm Potter and his friends, the Cruciatus Curse never entered those thoughts. It had always seemed a bit uncivilized to Draco. Not to mention, ineffective. If you needed information, Legilimency or Veritaserum were far superior methods of obtaining truth. Torture was messy and unnecessary. It made him think of Muggles. Barbaric. Brutal. Draco felt that pure-bloods were somehow above the Cruciatus Curse.

The thought made him…uncomfortable. For some reason.

Lastly, there was the infamous _Avada Kedavra_. Draco knew about the Killing Curse because…well, any dimwit who could read should know about the Killing Curse. Even this spell was preferable to the Cruciatus Curse in Draco’s eyes. It was almost elegant, the way you simply had to flick your wrist to take a life. There was nothing barbaric or Muggle about it. It was the perfect curse. Clean. Efficient. Impossible.

Though technically Draco had learned nothing _new_ in this lesson, it was the first time that he’d been able to see Dark Magic performed up close. It’s one thing to read about the Unforgivable Curses, and quite another to watch them in action.

Draco’s personal favorite was the Imperius Curse. Having complete control over another person? Now _that_ was practical. He shivered just thinking about all of the things he would do if he could use it.

The key to all of these curses was in the caster’s intentions. You had to really _mean_ it. And Draco knew exactly who inspired such emotion.

He would start with Potter. Draco just had to do something that would expose him for the fraud he was. First he would get Potter to ditch Weasley and Granger, leaving him completely friendless. Then he would have him fail his exams. Or at least stop receiving acceptable marks. He just _knew_ the only reason Weasley and Potter had made it this far was because Granger was helping them. Those two had the combined intelligence of a Blast-Ended Skrewt. Finally, Draco would wait until Gryffindor’s next Quidditch match and send him flying around the pitch like a fool before orchestrating a fall to keep him down for the rest of the year.

Weasley would be next. Draco would make the freckled git his personal House Elf. He could think of nothing more humiliating for a pure-blood. Not that Draco even really considered any of the Weasley’s as pure-bloods. _Filthy blood traitors._

And as for Granger? _What would he do with Granger?_

He knew. There was only one thing he would ever want from her. He closed his eyes. He could hear her voice in his head so perfectly. So sweetly.

_“I’m nothing but a know-it-all Mudblood. I don’t deserve magic. I don’t deserve to be top of the class. Draco does. He’s better than me in every way. He’s clever and charming, and a brilliant Quidditch player! He’s also rather attractive. Any girl in school would be lucky to-”_

Draco’s eyes shot wide open as he stopped the thought in its tracks. He blinked.

It was true of course; any girl in school _would_ be lucky to be with him. But he didn’t need to hear that from Granger. He wouldn’t want to. He’d just gotten a bit carried away was all.

Upon realizing that he had been staring at his book for the better part of twenty minutes without reading a single word, Draco closed it with an irritated sigh and stood from the table. He wished he could turn his off his brain for just one day.

Maybe he would see what Pansy was up to. She was the perfect distraction for a day like today.

Draco found her easily. She was with Tracey and Daphne in the Slytherin common room, laying about and painting color onto her nails. He pulled her away without any trouble and spent the rest of the afternoon walking around the lake, throwing stones in to see if the squid would make an appearance. He spoke of nothing important, enjoying her unabashed admiration, lazily flirting back without commitment of any kind. The greatest thing about being with Pansy was that he never had to think too hard. She laughed at his jokes, agreed with his opinions, and generally took his mind away from troubling thoughts. Lately it felt like he was overthinking _everything,_ playing and replaying past events and future concerns. It was simple with Pansy. He was completely unchallenged.

When the sun was getting closer to the horizon, Draco bade her farewell and left to find Crabbe and Goyle for the announcement of the Champions.

It seemed everyone in the Great Hall was eating their supper as fast as possible, anxious to get to the Triwizard Tournament. Nobody, not even Draco, knew how the Goblet chose its candidates. All he knew was that if the Goblet’s decision was influenced by Dumbledore, there was no way Warrington was getting chosen. At least they would all have Krum to watch; if anybody was a sure bet, it was him.

At last the tables were cleared and the room quieted so deeply that Draco swore he could hear the flickering of the candles that floated high above their heads. Dumbledore approached the Goblet as its ever-burning blue flame turned an angry red, sparks flying everywhere as it spat out the first piece of parchment.

When Dumbledore called out Krum’s name, Draco was not surprised – eager as the rest of the school to watch the Quidditch prodigy compete in the three tasks. He clapped along with everyone as Krum stoically walked up to accept his fate.

When Fleur Delacour, the girl with the silvery hair was called next, Draco caught Blaise’s eye and grinned. Blaise returned the grin with a devious look of his own and turned back to watch Fleur excitedly flounce up to Dumbledore. Draco wouldn’t mind getting to watch this enchanting witch for the foreseeable future.

When Cedric Diggory was chosen, Draco rolled his eyes at the Hufflepuff table’s overzealous cheering but was otherwise unbothered. Diggory was something of an anomaly for the Hufflepuffs in that he was actually _competent._ Though Draco wished the Hogwarts champion had come from _any_ other house, (Ravenclaw or Slytherin at least) he thought Hogwarts was being fairly well represented by Diggory.

Then the Goblet flared red a fourth time.

When Dumbledore caught the bit of parchment fluttering in the air and called out the name _Harry Potter,_ the room went deadly silent as only one thought went through Draco’s mind.

_Of fucking course._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again... SO SO sorry this took me forever. It won't happen again!!!! Or at least not for the next chapter. I've got my mojo back. And by mojo I mean motivation. So whooo!
> 
> Also sorry that there wasn't a whole lot of Draco/Hermione interaction in this chapter. It's just the way the cookie crumbled.
> 
> The only book/movie difference here is that I kept the book thing where both schools are coed. No gendered schools here, thank you very much!
> 
> Anyways...thanks for reading:) Every time I read somebody's lovely comment I gain 3 life points!


	6. Obvious

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there!
> 
> This chapter is brought to you by Oblivious Teenagers.
> 
> Please enjoy :)

_Draco,_

_I’ve just heard about the selection of champions, and I can assure you that_ _Potter’s involvement is a complete outrage at the Ministry. If we discover that Dumbledore gives him help of any kind moving forward, there will be severe consequences. Although, knowing the difficulty of the tournament and Potter’s_ _level of skill, I would bet a substantial sum of money that he won’t last even five_ _minutes. I say, let people see what he’s really made of._

 _I am aware that I still have not gotten back to you about Alastor Moody and_ _his atrocious actions at the start of term. Unfortunately he is still something of a respected entity within the more powerful circles at the Ministry. Therefore I think_ _it would be unwise to challenge him at the moment. Do not, however, mistake my hesitation as apathy. This will not be forgotten._

 _Lastly, I heard that the delegate from Beauxbaton is Fleur Delacour. My sources have informed me that her maternal grandmother was Violette Archambeau, a known veela, making our Miss Delacour one-quarter veela. I presume you remember the veela from the World Cup? She is a half-breed, and not to be trusted._

_Keep your head up, Draco. I know the tournament will be something of a distraction_ _but you must stay focused on your schoolwork. Your mother sends her best,_

_Lucius Malfoy_

Draco read the letter twice in rapid succession, then sat back on the black leather sofa and huffed out a disbelieving laugh. Six pairs of eyes turned to him, likely drawn to the noise that had disturbed the otherwise peaceful atmosphere in the Slytherin common room. Up until then, the group had been enjoying the quiet evening by the crackling fireplace undisturbed, save for the sounds of Pansy’s quill steadily scribbling away and the periodic page turning of Theo’s book.

“What is it?” Pansy asked, looking up at him with interest from the floor. She and Daphne were lying on the plush green rug next to the warm fire, working on their potions essays for Professor Snape. Instead of answering, Draco turned to Blaise, who was lounging in the high back armchair to his right. He held up his father’s letter.

“You’ll never guess what I just learned.”

Blaise leaned back in the chair and simply raised his eyebrows, doing his best to seem uninterested. Draco smirked.

“You know that Fleur Delacour girl?”

At this, Pansy let out a haughty _hmph_ and picked up her quill, pretending to go back to her essay while Blaise leaned forward in his chair, abandoning his indifference.

“Of course,” he grinned, “what about her?”

Draco flicked the letter with his other hand. “She’s a veela.”

Pansy and Daphne let out simultaneous gasps while Theo looked up from his book. Blaise’s eyes widened.

“You’re joking.”

Draco shrugged, still smirking. “Well – a quarter veela.”

Blaise rubbed a hand behind his head with an embarrassed sort of laugh. “Bloody hell, that explains a lot.”

“What’s a veela?” Crabbe asked from the other end of the sofa. Goyle said nothing patronizing in response so Draco assumed he hadn’t any clue either. Pansy slammed her quill back down and sat up on the carpet.

“A _veela_ , Crabbe,” she started, somehow managing to look disgusted and pleased at the same time, “is an _allegedly_ beautiful creature that looks like a woman until you piss it off. Then they look like these big ugly birds with claws and beaks.”

“Wicked.”

Pansy scowled. “No it’s not! They have some sort of mind-magic over men that turns them into big _prats_.” She crossed her arms and gave Draco a significant look.

Which he ignored.

“D’you think Fleur turns into one of those birds?” Blaise asked.

“Probably not,” Daphne piped in. “If she’s only one-quarter veela I doubt she can do anything like that.” She shrugged. “She’s just really pretty.”

Pansy gave her friend an incredulous stare, which Daphne quickly noticed and jumped to attention.

“Erm – she’s probably a slag though!”

Theo looked back down at his book, shrugging. “Whatever she is, it’s working.”

Blaise laughed, shaking his head. “I don’t know, mate. Seems a bit dodgy now.”

“Of course she is!” Pansy shrieked. “She’s not even really a witch, you know. Shouldn’t even be allowed to compete in the tournament. Not when she’s one of those…er…what’s the word? Like Hagrid?"

Draco raised an eyebrow. “Half-breeds?”

Pansy positively _beamed_ at him.

“ _Exactly_. Besides – I don’t even think she’s that pretty.”

Blaise and Theo let out huffs of disbelief. “I think you need your vision checked, Pans,” Theo said behind his book.

Pansy crossed her arms haughtily. “My vision works _just_ fine, thank you. Enough to know when somebody’s attractive at least. Like that Cedric Diggory.”

Daphne nodded enthusiastically. “Ooo yes,” she said, grabbing Pansy by the arm. “And _Viktor Krum_.”

“Right,” Pansy nodded, again glancing at Draco. “It’s his eyes, I think. They’re so… _intense_.”

Blaise raised an eyebrow, looking back and forth between them. “Do you actually find him attractive? Or is it just because he’s famous?”

The two girls looked at each other. Daphne shrugged.

“Probably both.”

Blaise rolled his eyes and leaned back, tucking his hands behind his head and putting his feet up on the armrest of the couch. He nodded at Draco’s letter.

“Anything else interesting in there?” he asked.

Draco shook his head, keen to move on Pansy’s tiresome line of jealousy.

“Not really.”

He wasn’t lying. The news about Fleur was the only part of the letter of any interest. It was a damn shame, really. She’d been the fittest girl at Hogwarts and within the space of one paragraph she’d become completely unattractive to him. Well, logically unattractive. Aside from that, he didn’t really care about Moody anymore. Not with everything else going on. And he knew Father meant well about Potter, but honestly…

_Harry Potter entering the Triwizard Tournament was the greatest thing that had ever happened to Draco._

At first, of course, he had been livid. He’d assumed that everybody would rally behind him as they always did, and Potter would pull off yet another impossible victory by disregarding school rules. But they _hadn’t_ supported him _._ They’d seen his involvement as the attention-seeking scheme it was. For the first time ever, the whole school hated Harry Potter as much as Draco did.

Well alright, they had hated him second year too, but it was because they wrongfully thought he was the heir of Slytherin and Draco had been too angry to enjoy it. This year they hated him because they _finally_ saw him for who he was. A skill-less, big-headed showoff who couldn’t stand _not_ being the center of attention for once in his pathetic life.

It seemed everyone in the school believed it now. Even – much to Draco’s delight – Potter’s very best mate.

If he had to bet, Draco guessed that Potter had put his name in the Goblet of Fire without telling Weaselbee, and now he was angry that he wouldn’t be getting a crack at the money. Basically the two quintessential Potter-Weasley issues. Ego and poverty.

Whatever the reason – they weren’t friends anymore and Draco was thrilled. They didn’t sit together in class or at meals. They weren’t partners in potions class. He had even heard them having a row in a corridor the other day. It was like something out of one of his _Imperio_ -fantasies. Of course, if he could really have his way, Potter would be completely friendless. Draco couldn’t be so lucky.

Granger, predictably, _infuriatingly,_ refused to abandon him. She was determined to remain his faithful sidekick, no matter how little sense it made; and it certainly didn't make a whole lot of sense. Draco never really understood the friendship between Potter and Granger. As far as he could guess, Granger was desperate for a friend and Potter needed help with classwork. Beyond that he couldn’t figure out what they would possibly talk about. They just seemed…mismatched.

 _It didn’t matter._ Potter lost the friend he liked the most and Draco could work with that.

The next day was Friday, which meant Draco’s favorite class: Double Potions with the Gryffindors. It was a special hobby of his to guess how many points Professor Snape would take away by the end of the day. Now there was the added bonus of watching Weasley trying to ignore Potter, Potter trying to ignore Weasley, and Granger helplessly trying to choose between the two.

Today she walked down to Snape’s dungeon with Potter. She usually did; Weasley had other Gryffindors to talk to while Potter had nobody but Granger. They approached the group of students waiting by the doors and Draco stepped forward eagerly.

This was an especially exciting class, for at long last he had perfected the spell he’d been working on for days, and the results were displayed prominently on the front of every Slytherins’ robes.

Draco had charmed several large badges with glowing red letters that read:

**Support CEDRIC DIGGORY–**

**The REAL Hogwarts Champion!**

They were anything but subtle, so when Potter and Granger approached the dungeon doors, he was satisfied to see their eyes lock straight on to the luminous words.

“Like them Potter?” he said, louder than what was strictly speaking necessary. “And this isn’t all they do – look!”

He pressed the badge to his chest, and in seconds the bright red changed to a sickly green that read plainly:

 **POTTER STINKS**

He was actually quite proud of himself. It was spellwork even _Granger_ should appreciate. He was prouder still when he saw the anger swelling on Potter’s face. The rest of the Slytherins laughed and pressed their badges, too, until the dim passageway was softly illuminated in the bright green glow of the letters.

“Oh _very_ funny,” Granger said sarcastically, “really _witty.”_

Draco smirked.

 _Bet if she wasn’t friends with Potter she’d be asking how the badges work. They’re bloody brilliant._

He pulled a spare out of his pocket and held it out for her, a look of sincerity plastered on his face.

“Want one Granger? I’ve got loads. But don’t touch my hand, now. I’ve just washed it, you see; don’t want a Mudblood sliming it up.”

Quicker than a flash, Potter reached for his wand and had it closed tightly in his grasp, a look of pure fury emanating from his eyes.

“Harry!” Granger said, voice full of warning.

But Draco wasn’t focused on her, or any of the other students who had jumped out of the way upon seeing the wand held at the ready. He calmly drew his own wand and stared down his self-righteous opponent.

“Go on, then, Potter,” he said quietly. Ready. “Moody’s not here to look after you now – do it, if you’ve got the guts – ”

For a moment, they stared at each other. Then, at precisely the same time, their wand arms rose and their voices rang out.

 _“Furnunculus!”_

_“Densaugeo!”_

Jets of light shot from both wands and met in midair, ricocheting off each other in different directions with a bright flash. Potter’s spell hit Goyle right in the face while Draco’s hit Granger. Immediately his stomach sank, and his heart began pounding.

 _No!_ He’d been aiming for Potter!

Goyle shouted out in pain as huge boils began erupting from his face; Granger had cried out, too, and was hiding her face from view. Draco racked his brain trying to remember what hex he had used – it had happened too fast for him to recall. Weasley rushed up and was forcing Granger’s hands away from her face when Draco remembered. _Densaugeo._

Sure enough, Granger’s front teeth were growing larger and larger by the second, resembling more than ever the beaver Pansy always compared her to. The spell had just popped into his head. Considering that he hadn’t even been aiming at Granger, Draco concluded that he couldn’t have come up with a crueler scenario if he had _tried._ It was almost too perfect. Pansy, Daphne, and Tracey were giggling hysterically at the sight of her, while Millicent just sort of puffed out air in what Draco could only assume was amusement. Granger, now aware of her situation, was panicking – trying harder than ever to conceal her elongating teeth.

At least he had managed to do _some_ sort of damage, even if it wasn’t at his intended target. And at least Potter had missed him as well, instead hitting–

 _Shit._

Belatedly remembering Goyle, he turned to find that his friend’s face was now completely unrecognizable, swollen to the point of having no immediately discernable features. Just as he was opening his mouth to Blaise to ask what they should do, Professor Snape strode into the corridor silently, bringing a keen sense of foreboding with him.

“And what is all this noise about?” he asked softly. Dangerously.

Everyone of his classmates started talking at once, anxious to tell Snape what had happened; he ignored them all, instead pointing a long bony finger right at Draco.

“Explain.”

Draco resisted the devilish smile that was threatening to form.

“Potter attacked me sir –”

“We attacked each other at the same time!” Potter raged.

“– and he hit Goyle – look –”

Snape took one look at Goyle, whose face was now oozing slightly from the many abscesses, and calmly said, “Hospital wing, Goyle.”

As Goyle ran quickly out of sight, Weasley stepped forward. He dragged Granger roughly by elbow to stand right in front of Professor Snape.

“Malfoy got Hermione!” he said. _“Look!”_

He forced Granger to show her face, as she was still trying desperately to cover it up with her hands. It was in vain; they had now grown well-past her collar and did not appear to be slowing. Snape looked down at her coldly, taking in her appearance. There was a breath of silence.

“I see no difference.”

Draco’s eyes widened slightly. Someone behind him let out a laugh of disbelief.

 _Bloody hell, didn't see that coming._

Granger’s eyes filled with tears and she ran from the corridor. Draco watched her go, but the outburst that followed brought him right back to the room before him. Potter and Weasley had started shouting profanities at Snape at the same time. Their voices mixed together in the stone hallway, which made it nearly impossible for Draco to perceive specific words, but they all got the gist anyways.

“Let’s see,” Snape said, clearly enjoying himself. “Fifty points from Gryffindor and a detention each for Potter and Weasley. Now get inside, or it’ll be a week’s worth of detentions.”

Draco practically skipped back to his seat; he couldn’t believe his luck. He knew Snape favored him, but this was unprecedented. He had _attacked_ another student without any sort of punishment. Potter, however, stomped into the classroom and slammed his bag onto his desk. Weasley was actually _shaking_ with anger. For a second, it looked as though he was going to sit down with Potter, past arguments forgotten, but instead walked past him to sit by two other boys: Dean Thomas and… something Finnigan.

Grinning wickedly, Draco turned to Potter and once again pressed his badge, flashing _POTTER STINKS_ across the dungeon.

He would have happily spent the entire double Potions class tormenting Potter from afar, but a knock on the door ruined his plans. It was that odd little Mudblood kid with the camera who was currently the proudest (and only) member of the _Harry Potter Fan Club._ He didn’t have his camera now, but he did walk up to Potter with a dopey smile that Draco would have loved to smack off his face. The little nuisance informed Professor Snape that Potter was excused for the rest of class to take photographs for the _Daily Prophet_. Draco rolled his eyes, but noticed there was definite tension between Potter and Weasley at this declaration, so he wasn’t too upset.

After class, he and Crabbe dropped in on the hospital wing to check on Goyle before dinner. Draco figured he should probably feel responsible for what happened, but he didn't. It wasn’t _his_ fault Potter was a prat. In any case, he decided it would be best to visit. Hopefully the damage wasn’t too bad.

Plus, it would be fun to see the buck-toothed wonder.

When they got there, Goyle was sitting on the side of a bed, completely alone in the enormous chamber. Madam Pomfrey was nowhere in sight, and neither was Granger – assuming she had actually _gone_ to the hospital wing. Draco could picture her trying to fix it all on her own, know-it-all that she was.

The two of them walked up to Goyle’s bed, wincing at the sight of him. The swelling was gone, but a long cloth was wrapped around every inch of his head, leaving only enough room for his eyes to dart around upon hearing Draco and Crabbe approach.

“Oi!” he exclaimed, irritably. His voice was slightly muffled by the white fabric. “Either of you see Madam Pomfrey? The old bird wrapped my head up tight and disappeared somewhere.”

Crabbe shook his head as Draco leaned an arm against the bedframe. “No. What’d she do to you anyway?”

Goyle itched at a spot right by his eyebrow, fumbling awkwardly around the bandages. “She got rid of the boils easy enough, but said the _oozing_ had to stop on its own. Then she walked away without saying how bloody long it would take!”

Draco shrugged dismissively and sat on the bed neighboring Goyle’s. “You’ll be fine. It was a simple jinx.”

Ignoring the angry murmuring that followed, Draco examined the cot he had chosen to sit on, noticing that the sheets were somewhat more disheveled than the other crisply made hospital beds occupying the room. He raised a brow.

“Was Granger here?”

Despite himself, Goyle chuckled. “Yeah, she was. I didn’t get to see it downstairs, but by the time Pomfrey fixed it, her teeth were down to her waist.”

Crabbe grunted out a laugh and Draco smirked, shaking his head. “Damn,” he said, amused. “I was hoping it’d last a little longer.”

“That was a wicked duel, though,” Crabbe said. Goyle stopped laughing and hit him on the arm.

“Shut it, you twat, I’m in the hospital wing.”

“Malfoy said you’re fine.”

“I'm _in_ the _hospital wing!”_

“For pimples _…”_

Draco sighed as the two continued their bickering, bored with the hospital now that he was sure Granger was long gone and Goyle was going to be fine. He had to remind Crabbe of dinner to get him to leave, promising Goyle that they would see him back at the common room after they had finished eating.

It turned out that Granger wasn’t in the Great Hall, either, which meant Draco got to spend his meal with the grand view of a friendless Potter eating alone. He was mildly curious where she could be spending her evening, but he wasn’t complaining. This had been an exceptionally good Friday, and he drifted off to sleep that night without a care in the world.

The next morning, Draco awoke well-rested, the whole weekend ahead of him. He laid awake in bed, enjoying the lazy feeling of having nowhere at all to be. Eventually he got dressed and found Crabbe and Goyle waiting for him down in the common room. They made their way to breakfast, where Draco chose a seat across from Viktor Krum and Blaise. Blaise was deep in conversation with Theo about some Ravenclaw girl, while Krum sat reading the _Daily Prophet_ with an odd amount of intensity. His eyebrows were furrowed in concentration and he managed to look even more agitated than usual.

Draco wondered what he could be so invested in. Krum didn’t strike him as much of a reader, especially when the subject was British news. There couldn’t possibly be anything interesting in there to a Bulgarian Quidditch player. Then again, Draco noticed that Krum _had_ been spending quite a bit of time in the library. Perhaps he was trying to prepare for the first task.

Suddenly, Krum looked up from his article and locked eyes with Draco. He didn’t look away – there was no point. Krum had seen him staring.

He nodded at Draco. “Good morning.”

“Morning.” Draco jerked his chin at the _Daily Prophet_ in Krum’s hands. “Reading anything interesting?”

Krum scowled darkly at the article. Then, seeming to come to some decision, he flipped the paper around and slid it forward until it was right under Draco’s nose.

“Haff you seen this?” Krum asked him warily, tapping on the article-in-question with his finger.

Draco blinked in surprise. He picked up the _Prophet_ and was met with a rather large photo of Potter posing for a picture from the interview the day before. _Prat_. Draco read the caption under the photograph and raised a brow.

“The Wand Weighing ceremony?”

Krum shook his head and pointed to further down the page. Draco read.

_Harry has at last found love at Hogwarts. His close friend,_

_Colin Creevey, says that Harry is rarely seen out of the company_

_of one Hermione Granger, a stunningly pretty Muggle-born girl_

_who, like Harry, is one of the top students in the school._

Draco looked up dumbly at Krum, who was staring off somewhere over Draco’s shoulder – presumedly the Gryffindor table. He looked back, noticing that Draco had finished reading.

“Hermy-own and Harry Potter,” he said carefully. “They are…?” Krum looked up as if in search of the word, then conjoined his hands to indicate ‘togetherness’.

Draco’s eyes opened wide.

“Dating?”

He shared one look with Crabbe and Goyle, and together the three of them burst out laughing. Krum, for his part, only looked confused. He scrunched his eyebrows together as their laughter died, and Draco put a hand down on the article.

“No, no, no, no, no,” he said quickly, still slightly chuckling. “They’re not– No. That’s not–” He looked back at the top of the page and checked the name under the title.

 _Rita Skeeter._ This woman was definitely a hack. Potter and Granger were _not_ together _._ And ‘ _stunningly pretty’_? She clearly had never seen Granger in person. Not to mention Potter wasn’t top of the class, and he sure as hell had never heard of a _Colin Creevey_. He looked over his shoulder to the Gryffindor table. Potter and Granger were talking animatedly about something, faces grim. Draco shook his head and turned back to Krum.

“There’s no way. They’re not together.”

At this, Krum brightened. He looked from the article to Potter and Granger like he still didn’t quite believe, but looked more relaxed, nonetheless. Draco quirked his eyebrows.

_Why would Krum even care?_

But then it clicked. He must have found out Granger was a Mudblood. _Of course!_ He was from Durmstrang; nothing would confuse him more than a relationship between a Mudblood and a famous wizard. That sort of thing probably didn’t happen where he was from.

“Yeah, don’t worry,” he continued. “This Skeeter woman doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

“Right,” came a voice to his right. “Just _look_ at her.”

Theo and Blaise had been listening with interest since Krum had pushed over the article. Now they leaned into the conversation with amusement. Krum stared at them with the trademark scowl that Draco had come to understand was his resting facial expression.

“And not that Potter could sink any lower,” Theo continued, “but Granger’s a Mudblood, see?”

At this, Krum’s expression darkened once again, but he said nothing. Draco tilted his head.

_They must not have that exact term in Bulgaria._

“Mudblood.” Draco clarified. “It’s what we call witches and wizards with Muggle parents.”

“Yeah,” Goyle added. “You know – filthy blood.”

But Krum’s scowl only deepened.

“I am familiar.”

He abruptly stood up and grabbed the paper, folding it neatly into his bag as his eyes fixedly watched something over Draco’s shoulder.

“I am going to the library,” he monotoned.

“Alright,” Draco responded, slightly puzzled. “See you at dinner, then.”

Without another word, Krum stalked off out of the Great Hall. Draco watched him leave and shrugged, mind turning once more to the article. He thought of Granger and Potter and shook his head, the image of the two of them together forcing its way into his brain. He internally gagged. Ridiculous.

_Although…_

The two _did_ seem to be spending a lot of time together now that Weasley wasn’t around. He remembered the way Potter had come to her defense at the Quidditch World Cup after Draco called her a Mudblood. And _again_ down by Snape’s dungeon. Come to think of it, lately it seemed that the only way to get Potter _really_ angry was to attack Granger. He twisted back around to look at them, preparing himself to see a sign of something – _anything_ that would point to truth in the article’s bold allegation. He narrowed his eyes.

They were gone.

He frowned, and turned back to the table, mind reeling.

What if they _were_ …

 _No._ No way. Impossible. What would Potter even see in her? Obviously they were friends, so he didn’t mind her personality – but her looks? Potter was blind, but he wasn’t _that_ blind. And what would Granger see in _him_? Surely she was too clever to fall for the ‘famous Harry Potter’ routine. After that, what was there to like?

Draco shook his head, loading his plate with breakfast in an exasperated attempt to rid his mind of Potter.

 _The first task was only ten days away,_ he reminded himself. And with the luck he’d been having, there was a very good chance that Potter wouldn’t make it any further than that.

**____________________**

Draco leaned back in his chair and stared up the ceiling, counting the stains that decorated the stone surface, wondering how they got there. Though he’d been in the Potions classroom likely hundreds of times, he’d never bothered to inspect the rough surface above him.

Then again, he’d never been this _bored_ before.

Professor Snape had told the Slytherins in fourth year and above to meet in his classroom for some big announcement, but had yet to actually _show up_. The room was full of restless chatter, and Draco peeled his eyes away from a questionable red stain to pinch the bridge of his nose.

He had a headache. It was probably from the Care of Magical Creatures class he’d just come from. _Stupid_ Hagrid was making their _stupid_ class put the _stupid_ Blast-Ended Skrewts into wooden crates to hibernate for winter. He had quickly decided he would do no such thing and spent the class period holed up in Hagrid’s dingy hut.

Draco was fairly certain that his “professor” was breeding the Skrewts illegally, but at this point he was so desperate to see some sort of creature eat Potter that he really couldn’t bring himself to care. The dragon had been a bust, but the Skrewts showed tremendous potential in the hazard department with their fire-blasting, blood-sucking, stinging extremities.

He still seethed when he thought about the tournament. Draco had been _so sure_ Potter was a goner during the first task, but he still somehow pulled off some bullshit win that managed to rally the entire school back in his support. Now Potter had Weasley back and all Draco had was dozens of _POTTER STINKS_ buttons that nobody but the Slytherins would wear.

 _Well…_ that wasn’t necessarily true. He did have something else.

When that Rita Skeeter woman had stepped into his Care of Magical Creatures class an hour ago, all Draco could think was, _Great. More publicity for Potter._

But then he had heard her talk to Hagrid about his Skrewts, and he realized something: She wasn’t some Harry Potter-obsessed journalist. She was just looking for a good story. A story that didn't need to be, strictly speaking, accurate.

So, Draco had introduced himself. He’d made himself…available to her, and was expecting a letter from her in the near future. He’d give her a story, alright. One skewed in the _right_ way.

“ _Alright._ That’s enough.”

Draco jumped slightly as the no-nonsense voice cut through the prattle, effectively ending the noise in a manner of seconds. Snape strode to the front of the classroom with long, swift strides, stopping right in front of his desk. He turned and surveyed his House with a measured stare.

Snape cleared his throat. “As you know, I’ve gathered you here for an announcement regarding the tournament.”

He paused for a brief moment, and Draco could have _sworn_ he saw the slightest of eyerolls before he opened his mouth to continue.

“It is a longstanding tradition of the Triwizard Tournament for the hosting school to have…” His mouth pressed into a thin line.

“…the Yule Ball.”

Immediately the room broke out into an explosion of mostly female exclamations. Friends turned to one another to discuss as Draco raised his brows in mild surprise.

_A ball?_

His father hadn’t mentioned anything about a ball. Surely he didn’t mean–

“ _Quiet!”_ Snape commanded, and the room fell silent once more. He let out a sigh before continuing.

“The Yule Ball, as you may have gathered, is a _dance_.” There was another sweep of giggles across the room, which Snape ignored. “It will take place in the Great Hall on Christmas day at 8 o’clock, finishing at midnight. Dress robes _will_ be worn. It is open to fourth years and above, although you may invite a younger student if you should want to.”

He paused, looking as though this conversation was the most tiresome inconvenience he had ever encountered. His emotionless eyes scanned the room.

“Do not embarrass me.”

And with that, he swept from the room in a fluid motion, leaving the students to sit in silence for several confused moments.

Then, there was chaos.

“A _dance?!”_

“– do we _really_ have to wear dress robes..?”

“Is Marcus looking over here? _No_! don’t make it _obvious!”_

“You still got any of that Firewhisky from Thomas?”

“How the hell am I supposed to find a date for this thing?”

Draco tuned out the noise, pondering the new information thoughtfully.

 _Hm._ Well, this was new. Certainly not boring. And the mention of Firewhisky was definitely intriguing. He didn’t really care about the dancing, but he supposed with the right partner the ball could be…interesting.

Listening to his classmates’ nervous rambling made him chuckle in amusement. It was pathetic to worry about such a simple thing, but it did bring a question to his mind.

_Who was he going to ask?_

Well. The choice was obvious, really.

Draco sneaked a glance over at Pansy to find that she was already staring directly at him. When they caught each other’s eyes, she gave a slight jump and quickly looked away, face turning a delicate shade of pink. Draco smirked and twisted around to see Blaise, who was already looking at him with a knowing grin.

This was going to be easy.

Over the next several weeks it seemed that all anybody could talk about was the Yule Ball. With the end of the term coming to a close and the dance only a week away, the halls were nearly always filled with excitement. Each and every student skipped around with higher spirits than usual. Even Krum appeared affected by the happy atmosphere; Draco had spotted him softly smiling to himself at dinner one evening, and if _that_ wasn’t a sign of good cheer than he didn’t know what was.

He and Blaise got up from dinner at the same time and made their way towards the exit, leaving Crabbe and Goyle behind with a wave. Draco found himself spending more time with Blaise than usual – Crabbe and Goyle acted uncomfortably every time anyone brought up the Yule ball, and it was becoming tiresome to be around. Blaise and Theo, on the other hand, were much easier to talk to. Especially regarding girls.

Blaise nudged his arm as they reached the giant entryway. “So, I finally asked Daphne.”

Draco raised his eyebrows and clapped his friend on the back.

“Excellent! It’s about time,” he said, giving Blaise a sideways glance. “She said yes, right?”

He shook of Draco’s arm with a scoff. “Of course she said yes – Theo’s got Tracey. Her only other options were Crabbe and Goyle. She obviously jumped at the chance.” He grinned. “Plus, you know, I’m bloody fit.”

Draco rolled his eyes. He wouldn’t pretend to be the humblest of blokes, but Blaise’s vanity knew no bounds.

Suddenly his dark eyes narrowed at Draco. “Hey, wait a minute,” he said indignantly. “You’re one to talk. When are you going to ask Parkinson?”

He shrugged. “Whenever. I’m not in a hurry. What is she going to do, ask somebody else?” He smirked. “Besides – don’t wanna seem eager. Let her sweat it out.”

“You’re a right bastard, you know that?”

“I do what I can.”

As they moved further down the hall, a brash, blunt voice from the group ahead of them cut through their conversation, sending a jolt of electricity rushing through Draco’s body.

“Hermione – who are you going to the ball with?”

_Wait._

_What?_

He looked up. Granger was frowning at Weasley with exasperation, while Potter looked uncomfortably off to one side.

“I’m not telling you, you’ll just make fun of me.”

“You’re joking, Weasley!” Draco said, coming up from behind them. He couldn’t help himself. “You’re not telling me someone’s asked _that_ to the ball? Not the long-molared Mudblood?”

This was too intriguing to ignore.

Potter and Weasley both whipped around angrily, but Granger’s eyes went to somewhere over Draco’s shoulder. She waved and said loudly, “Hello, Professor Moody!”

He reacted without thinking, jumping back and searching the hall. Just as he spotted Moody far away, still within the Great Hall eating dinner, Granger looked at him smugly.

“Twitchy little ferret, aren’t you, Malfoy?” she said derisively.

Draco was just about to open is mouth with a comeback when Granger laughed. He stopped, giving the three of them time to leave the hall and disappear up the stairs. Blaise gave him a look somewhere between amusement and pity.

“Wow mate,” he said, shaking his head. “You really just let her walk away with that one didn’t you?”

“No,” Draco said, eyebrows furrowed. “I mean – did you see that? When she laughed. Her teeth.”

Blaise blinked at him, confused. “What?”

“Her teeth. They’re…normal.”

Blaise simply shrugged. “Didn’t notice. Bet she was lying about the date, though. Either that or she’s going with Longbottom and is too embarrassed to say.”

Draco said nothing, considering his friend’s words, and the two of them turned to continue their way to the dungeons, lost in thought.

 _Did she fix her teeth? Why now?_ Did she do it for the ball? There was absolutely no way she was going with a partner. She obviously _wasn’t_ going with Weasley – Draco could see them going together as some sort of gross pity thing – but that wasn’t it. Weasley had been the one who was asking. _No_. She had probably been lying.

Still. A small part of him wondered if she and Potter were going together.

When they got to the bare stretch of stone that marked the Slytherin common room entrance, Draco halted.

“Hey. I think I’m going to go find Pansy.”

“You do that.”

Ignoring the knowing look from Blaise, he turned back around and left the way he came.

When he found her, she was walking back from dinner with Daphne and Tracey, giggling about something Draco was positive he wouldn’t care about. When Pansy saw him walking up, she elbowed Daphne and they fell silent. She smiled.

“Hey Draco,” she said cheekily. “We were just talking about you.”

Tracey giggled again, poorly attempting to hide it behind a cough. Draco ignored her.

“Right,” he said, impatient to get out of sight of her friends. “Listen, can I talk to you for a sec?”

Her smile widened. “Of course!” She turned to Daphne and Tracey with a significant look. “Talk to you guys later?”

Daphne smiled wickedly. “Sure. Enjoy your _talk_ ,” she said, waggling her eyebrows suggestively. Draco rolled his eyes and turned to walk down the corridor, assuming that Pansy would be right behind him. Sure enough, he heard the rapid clicks of her short heels as she raced to catch up to him. He felt her arm snake its way around his bicep, where she held on delicately.

“So…” she began. “Where do you wanna go?”

He shrugged. “Dunno. Somewhere private.”

He felt her squeeze his arm lightly. “Oh. Alright, let me think.” Draco raised his eyebrows at her tone of voice. She sounded…nervous. And if there was one thing about Pansy, it was that she was never nervous. She knew what she wanted and she wasn’t afraid to tell you.

Pansy swallowed and continued. “We could – er – go to the library? Find a spot there? Maybe in some back hidden corner, where we can be alone?”

Draco didn’t know why, but that sounded….wrong. He knew it wasn’t that big of a deal – he was just asking her to a dance for fuck’s sake. But for some reason he didn’t want to ask in the library. It didn't feel right.

He suddenly grabbed her hand and turned the corner sharply, dragging her along with him.

“Draco! What are you –”

He opened the nearest classroom and stepped inside, closing the door behind them. The room was dim, the light from the evening sky just strong enough so that they wouldn’t trip over anything. He could just make out the anxious expression on her face as she looked around.

“Draco! We could get caught in here!”

He waved her off. “It’s fine. The professors are all still down at dinner.”

She nodded, still looking slightly worried. He knew he was making her nervous, but he kind of liked it. He liked knowing he had the power to affect her in such a way. She really was rather pretty. Her short hair was pinned back with gold clips, bangs framing her small face perfectly. She looked up at him through her lashes.

“So, what did you wanna talk to me about?”

She wouldn’t meet his gaze longer than a second, grabbing her arms in a sort of closed-off position. Draco inwardly rolled his eyes at himself. He was already making this a bigger deal than it needed to be. He decided to just go for it.

“Do you want to go to the ball with me?”

Her wide eyes shot up to meet his as her face broke out into a huge grin. She seemed almost…surprised, which struck Draco as odd. She must’ve known he was going to ask her. Why else would she and her friends be giggling like idiots? And why else would he have dragged her into this room?

“Draco, of course! Of course, I would; I thought you’d never ask!”

Before he could say another word, Pansy flung herself into his arms, wrapping hers around his neck as she squeezed him into a hug. He was surprised, but not displeased. He wrapped his arms around her waist, enjoying the feeling of her body pressed tightly against his. She spoke softly in his ear.

“This is going to be the best night ever.”

She pulled back slowly, stopping when her face was right in front of Draco’s. His head was buzzing. She was so _close_. He barely noticed her cool hands as they slid down from the nape of his neck to rest on his chest. She clutched at his shirt and he instinctively tightened his grip on her waist.

When Pansy pressed her lips against his, he wasn’t surprised. His heart was hammering so loudly, however, that he couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything other than hold on to her.

Before he could make his brain start working, she jerked back, face red as a cherry. Quicker than he would have thought possible, Pansy removed herself from his grip and was at the door. He barely had time to turn around before she disappeared completely. Her voice called out from beyond the door.

“See you tomorrow!”

He stared at the door a moment too long before he regained enough self-awareness to turn back around.

_Huh._

He stood there for a while in the empty classroom, bringing his hand up to touch his lips.

Maybe this dance was going to be more interesting than he thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Time.....
> 
> YULE BALL BABYYYYYY!!!!!
> 
> I am PSYCHED! JAZZED! READY!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading:)))
> 
> \----As a side note, there's a lot of things in here (the letter, the badges, the article) that didn't format how I wanted....does anybody know how to fix that in Ao3? Just wondering...
> 
> Just remember, every time you leave a comment, a fairy gets its wings! I don't make the rules!!!!


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